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FROM    SUNSET    RIDGE:     Poems    Old    and 

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IS   POLITE   SOCIETY    POLITE?   and  Other 

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HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


AT    SUNSET 


AT   SUNSET 

BY 

JULIA  WARD   HOWE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

ftitet^ibe  pressi  Cambrib0e 


COPYRIGHT,  igiO,  BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  December  iqio 


PSZOI1 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

THE  putting  together  of  her  Occasional  Poems  was 
my  mother's  latest  literary  work,  and  was  inter 
rupted  by  her  death,  untimely,  though  in  the  full 
ness  of  years.  In  completing  the  publication  which 
she  had  so  much  at  heart,  it  has  been  thought  best 
to  include  some  personal  poems  which  had  never 
been  revised  by  her,  since,  though  her  final  judg 
ment  might  have  rejected  them,  one  and  all  breathe 
her  spirit  and  speak  in  her  voice.  To  them  are 
added  a  few  poems  of  various  periods  which  do 
not  appear  in  any  of  her  previous  volumes. 

L.  E.  R. 
November,  1910. 


a 


/  have  made  a  voyage  upon  a  golden  river, 
'Neath  clouds  of  opal  and  of  amethyst. 

Along  its  banks  bright  shapes  were  moving  ever, 
And  threatening  shadows  melted  into  mist. 

The  eye,  unpracticed,  sometimes  lost  the  current, 
When  some  wild  rapid  of  the  tide  did  whirl, 

While  yet  a  master  hand  beyond  the  torrent 
Freed  my  frail  shallop  from  the  perilous  swirl. 

Music  went  with  me,  fairy  flute  and  viol, 
The  utterance  of  fancies  half  expressed, 

And  with  these,  steadfast,  beyond  pause  or  trial, 
The  deep,  majestic  throb  of  Nature7 s  breast. 

My  journey  nears  its  close  —  in  some  still  haven 
My  bark  shall  find  its  anchorage  of  rest, 

When  the  kind  hand,  which  every  good  has  given, 
Opening  with  wider  grace,  shall  give  the  best. 


CONTENTS 


OCCASIONAL  POEMS 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN -3 

FULTON 5 

THE  CAPITOL 8 

THE  MARINER'S  DREAM n 

NEW  YORK           14 

OLD  HOME  WEEK  IN  BOSTON  16 

LEXINGTON  CENTENNIAL,  1875 18 

A  WORD  FOR  THE  MOMENT 21 

THE  COOPERSTOWN  CENTENNIAL          .        .        .        .23 
HYMN  FOR  THE  INTERNATIONAL  CONGRESS  OF  RELI 
GIOUS  LIBERALS 25 

KANSAS 26 

THE  PLAYHOUSE 28 

THE  NATION'S  HOLIDAY 30 

HYMN  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY    .        .        .        .  32 

THE  GLORIOUS  FOURTH 34 

THE  CHRISTMAS  TRUCE            36 

THE  MESSAGE  OF  PEACE 38 

ix 


x  CONTENTS 

AFTER  THE  CONVENTION 40 

THE  QUEEN'S  JUBILEE 44 

DECORATION  DAY 46 

DECORATION  DAY 48 

THE  DEPARTING  CENTURY 50 

PERSONAL  POEMS 

To  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  ON  THE  COMPLETION  OF 

HIS  SEVENTIETH  YEAR 55 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  (1894)    .        .        .        .  57 

WASHINGTON  ALLSTON 58 

ROBERT  E.  LEE 62 

WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING 63 

MARGARET  FULLER 66 

ARCHBISHOP  WILLIAMS'S  JUBILEE        .        .        .        .68 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD 69 

JOHN  G.  WHITTIER 70 

WHITTIER 73 

ABBY  WILLIAMS  MAY           .  '-• 76 

JAMES   FREEMAN  CLARKE  (ON   HIS  FIFTIETH  BIRTH 
DAY)       77 

JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE  (ON  HIS  SEVENTIETH  BIRTH 
DAY)           79 

JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE  (CENTENARY)    ...  82 


CONTENTS  xi 

LUCY  STONE 84 

IN  MEMORIAM  OTTO  DRESEL 85 

To  MARY 87 

PHILLIPS  BROOKS 88 

A  HEART  OFFERING  TO  THE  DEAD  BISHOP         .        .    89 
MY   FIRST  THOUGHT   ON  HEARING   OF   BROWNING'S 

DEATH  91 

MICHAEL  ANAGNOS 94 

MARY  A.  LIVERMORE 96 

WORDSWORTH 98 

LEONARD  MONTEFIORE 101 

THE  LOST  POEM 103 

FREDERIC  L.  KNOWLES 104 

POEMS  OF  SENTIMENT  AND   REFLECTION 

FROM  MY  NURSERY 107 

ROUGE  GAGNE 109 

THE  OPEN  DOOR in 

RAFAEL'S  SAINT  CECILIA in 

A  SCRAP 114 

A  DREAM  OF  THE  HEARTHSTONE      .        .        .        .115 

FLOWERS 117 

A  SNAP  SHOT  119 

A  LEGEND  OF  BRITTANY  .  120 


xii  CONTENTS 

THE  ECHO 122 

AMONG  MY  TREES 123 

ALL  SAINTS 124 

A  WAGE-EARNER 125 

WICKED  PATIENCE 127 

THE  WORLD  MESSENGER 128 

A  NEW  FLAG 130 

SONG  OF  THE  HAREBELL 133 

NIGHT  THOUGHTS 135 

To  AN  INFANT  OF  DAYS 136 

HUMANITY 13? 

BUILDING 138 

QUATRAINS 139 

IN  Music  HALL 140 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND 141 

THE  CHRIST 142 

THE  PEACE  CONGRESS 143 

IN  THE  STREET 14$ 

NOVEMBER 146 

Six  PRETTY  CRADLES 14? 

CHRISTMAS    .  148 


OCCASIONAL    POEMS 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

READ  BY  MRS.  HOWE  AT  THE   LINCOLN  CENTENARY  MEET 
ING   IN    SYMPHONY   HALL,    BOSTON,    FEBRUARY   12,1909 

THROUGH  the  dim  pageant  of  the  years 
A  wondrous  tracery  appears: 
A  cabin  of  the  western  wild 
Shelters  in  sleep  a  new-born  child. 

Nor  nurse,  nor  parent  dear  can  know 
The  way  those  infant  feet  must  go; 
And  yet  a  nation's  help  and  hope 
Are  sealed  within  that  horoscope. 

Beyond  is  toil  for  daily  bread, 
And  thought,  to  noble  issues  led, 
And  courage,  arming  for  the  morn 
For  whose  behest  this  man  was  born. 

A  man  of  homely,  rustic  ways, 
Yet  he  achieves  the  forum's  praise, 
And  soon  earth's  highest  meed  has  won, 
The  seat  and  sway  of  Washington. 

No  throne  of  honors  and  delights; 
Distrustful  days  and  sleepless  nights, 
3 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

To  struggle,  suffer,  and  aspire, 
Like  Israel,  led  by  cloud  and  fire. 

A  treacherous  shot,  a  sob  of  rest, 
A  martyr's  palm  upon  his  breast, 
A  welcome  from  the  glorious  seat 
Where  blameless  souls  of  heroes  meet; 

And,  thrilling  through  unmeasured  days, 
A  song  of  gratitude  and  praise; 
A  cry  that  all  the  earth  shall  heed, 
To  God,  who  gave  him  for  our  need. 


FULTON 

READ    BY   MRS.    HOWE  AT  THE    HUDSON-FULTON    CELEBRA 
TION   IN   NEW   YORK,  SEPTEMBER, 


A  RIVER  flashing  like  a  gem, 
Crowned  with  a  mountain  diadem, 
Invites  an  unaccustomed  guest 
To  launch  his  shallop  on  her  crest  — 
A  pilgrim  whose  exploring  mind 
Must  leave  his  tardy  pace  behind  : 
"  My  bark  creeps  slow,  the  world  is  vast, 
How  shall  its  space  be  overpassed?  " 

Responsive  to  his  cry  appears 
A  visionary,  young  in  years, 
Commissioned  with  prophetic  brain 
The  mystic  problem  to  explain: 
"Where  fire  and  water  closest  blend, 
There  find  a  servant  and  a  friend!" 

Yet  many  a  moon  must  wax  and  wane, 
With  sleepless  nights  and  days  of  pain, 
Pleadings  a  monarch's  court  before, 
Shrewd  processes  and  study  sore, 
5 


FULTON 

Ere  on  the  silver  tide  shall  float, 

Swifter  than  thought,  young  Fulton's  boat. 

And  not  alone  for  Hudson's  stream 
Avails  the  magic  power  of  steam. 
Blessings  of  unimagined  worth 
Its  speed  shall  carry  round  the  earth; 
Knowledge  shall  on  its  pinions  fly, 
Nor  land  nor  race  in  darkness  lie; 

Commerce  her  hoards  shall  freely  bring 
To  many  an  urgent  summoning, 
And  Want  and  Wealth,  in  sundered  lands, 
Shall  closely  clasp  redeeming  hands, 
While  master  minds  new  gospels  span, 
The  holy  brotherhood  of  Man. 

Rest,  Fulton,  in  thine  honored  grave, 
Remembered  with  the  wise  and  brave. 
Not  wholly  dost  thou  yield  to  death, 
For  on  the  wind  blows  fiery  breath, 
And  on  the  wave  the  solemn  tread 
Of  multitudes  o'er  ocean  led, 
And  in  our  grateful  hearts  a  shrine 
Of  loving  memory,  all  are  thine. 

And  as  one  sun  doth  compass  all 
That  can  arise,  or  may  befall; 


FULTON 

One  sentence  on  Creation's  night 
Bestowed  the  blessed  boon  of  light, 
So  shall  all  life  one  promise  fill 
Of  gentle  nurture  and  good  will, 
While,  pledge  of  Love's  assured  control, 
The  Flag  of  Freedom  crowns  the  pole. 


THE  CAPITOL 

FOR   THE    FIRST  MEETING  OF   THE  AMERICAN  ACADEMY  OF 
ARTS  AND  LETTERS,   WASHINGTON,    DECEMBER  I4~l6,  IQOO 

WHERE  shall  our  nation's  temple  stand  ? 

Centre  of  counsel  and  command; 

A  Mecca  of  unfailing  faith; 

A  Zion  of  unwavering  hope; 

A  fortress  that  with  grim  assault 

And  deadly  stratagem  may  cope; 

A  Rome  that  weaves  no  slavish  bond, 

But  wins  allegiance  firm  and  fond. 

I  see  the  noble  structure  rise, 
The  dome  descending  from  the  skies 
To  lofty  station,  that  the  eye 
And  will  of  man  may  aim  so  high, 
While  walls  of  hospitable  space 
The  people's  judgment-seat  embrace. 
Here  shall  avail  the  argument 
Of  just  endeavor  and  intent; 
Here  shall  the  widow's  prayer  be  brought, 
The  orphan's  sacred  claim  be  sought; 
The  heavenly  sisterhood  of  art 
Keeping  unstained  a  nation's  heart; 
8 


THE    CAPITOL 

An  altar  for  each  honest  creed, 

A  court  where  each  just  cause  may  plead, 

A  sentence  of  eternal  lore 

Uttered  in  whispers  heretofore, 

But  now  with  silver  trump  proclaimed 

To  men  and  regions  newly  named, 

That  right  with  right  may  fitly  join, 

The  weal  of  each  for  all  combine; 

No  need  to  snatch,  no  need  to  slay, 

For  a  republic's  holiday. 

The  chief  who  gave  our  shrine  his  name 

Barred  it  thenceforth  from  evil  fame. 

Upon  his  laureled  tomb  doth  lie 

The  pledge  of  immortality, 

For  all  his  way  was  writ  of  Fate 

In  holy  footsteps  consecrate. 

Where  the  sad  spoils  of  warfare  rest 
Nirvana  sits,  a  solemn  guest, 
Safeguard  of  rule  that  may  not  cease, 
Sponsor  of  righteousness  and  peace. 

How  shall  we  overmatch  the  past 
With  merits,  shaming  each  the  last  ? 
Fast  holding  each  illustrious  theft 
Old  Time  has  patterned  in  his  weft, 
Losing  no  touch  of  hero  song, 
Yielding  no  step  of  vanquished  wrong, 


io  THE    CAPITOL 

No  conquering  grace  that  marks  the  line 
Where  human  beauties  grow  divine. 
Let  him  who  stands  for  service  here 
With  deeply  reverent  soul  draw  near, 
Intent  from  every  season's  youth 
To  pluck  the  new  commissioned  truth; 
To  lift  the  weight  that  most  offends, 
The  need  that  other  needs  transcends; 
In  distant  prisons,  sad  and  drear, 
The  captive's  lonely  heart  to  cheer, 
And  in  earth's  wildest  wastes  arouse 
The  music  of  the  Father's  house  — 
Home  for  the  homeless,  priceless  rest, 
Heaven's  seal  of  promise,  dearest,  best. 


THE  MARINER'S  DREAM 

READ   AT    CENTRAL   PARK    AT    THE    UNVEILING    OF    THE 
COLUMBUS   STATUE,   MAY   12,  1894  £ 

WHERE  shall  we  find  the  golden  key 
That  opes  to  peace  and  liberty? 
The  earth  is  full  of  grievous  wars, 
The  soldier's  tread  her  beauty  mars, 
The  captive's  chains  are  fast  and  locked, 
The  poor  man  by  the  rich  man  mocked. 
The  promise  of  the  Christ  we  hear, 
But  who  shall  bring  fulfillment  near  ? 

A  dream  came  to  a  sailor  bold, 
A  happy  dream  of  good  untold; 
And  a  little  bird  sang:  "Follow  me 
Westward,  over  the  unknown  sea. 
A  star  shall  lead  thy  chosen  band, 
And  bring  thy  slender  craft  to  land. 
Beyond  the  waters  thou  shalt  find 
Regions  of  splendor  unconfined, 
Where  giant  rivers  fruitful  flow, 
Where  birds  of  tropic  plumage  glow, 
Where  the  old  treasures  of  thy  race 
Shall  grow  and  multiply  apace, 
ii 


12  THE  MARINER'S   DREAM 

And  ancient  Rule  renew  its  health 
In  a  new  glorious  commonwealth." 

The  dreamer  waking,  bowed  his  head, 
And  on  the  wondrous  errand  sped. 
With  pleading  rare  he  wrung  the  gold 
From  hands  reluctant  to  unfold, 
And  loosing  from  old  Europe's  shore 
Sailed  westward,  westward  evermore. 

"I  hear  a  whisper  in  the  breeze, 
Whispered  from  forests  of  strange  trees, 
From  depths  of  greenery  unexplored, 
Where  sounded  ne'er  the  Christian  word. 
I  may  not  feed  on  light-earned  bread, 
Nor  on  soft  pillow  rest  my  head, 
For  still  my  wandering  thoughts  obey 
The  mystic  voice  that  calls  away. 

"What  though  the  way  be  long  to  find, 
Traced  dimly  in  my  laboring  mind; 
Though  wild  impatience  seize  my  crew, 
Distrustful  of  the  venture  new; 
Should  all  mankind  against  me  turn, 
The  haven  gained,  my  wage  shall  earn, 
The  yet  undowered  Future  claim 
Earth's  noblest  conquest  in  my  name." 


THE  MARINER'S  DREAM  13 

Oh,  man  of  visions,  sorely  vexed! 
Denied,  deserted,  and  perplexed; 
Shamed  by  rebuke  from  royal  lips, 
And  Fame  and  Fortune's  sad  eclipse, 
Thy  furrow  traced  across  the  sea 
The  unseen  path  of  destiny. 
In  thy  firm  hand  the  steadfast  helm 
Steered  onward  to  the  magic  realm. 
And  now  from  out  the  centuries'  maze 
Millions  of  voices  sing  thy  praise, 
And  hail  those  conquering  footsteps  trod, 
Inspired  of  angels,  led  by  God. 

Here  gather  we  in  Gotham  town, 
Of  all  our  western  world  the  crown, 
While  ladies  fair  and  gallants  gay 
Unite  to  celebrate  the  day. 
But  while  we  list  the  high  discourse, 
And  while  the  Paean  has  its  course, 
Let  Faith  re-consecrate  this  form, 
Adventured  once  'gainst  sea  and  storm. 

For  't  was  this  hand  that  held  the  key, 
Unlocking  Peace  and  Liberty. 
When  all  we  have  and  all  we  are 
Hung  on  the  guidance  of  a  star, 
And  on  the  answer,  dimly  guessed 
In  one  resolved,  responsive  breast. 


NEW  YORK 

SHE  sits  beside  the  ocean, 
With  a  river  on  either  hand, 
And  all  the  wealth  of  waters 
By  giant  girdles  spanned. 

Like  messengers  of  gladness 
The  swift  sails  come  and  go, 
Full-freighted  with  a  promise 
The  hungry  world  should  know, 

Since  to  Earth's  farthest  limits 
They  bear  the  precious  spoil 
Wrung  from  the  gold-paved  caverns, 
Brought  from  the  teeming  soil. 

Voices  of  many  nations 
Make  music  in  the  streets, 
Their  blooded  pulses  quicken 
The  heart  that  steadfast  beats. 

Brave  blood  she  brought  from  Britain, 
From  Holland  careful  thrift, 
And  ancient  empires  taught  her 
Their  wisdom  and  uplift. 
14 


NEW   YORK  15 

She  yields  to  helpful  labor 
Its  meed  and  honor  fit, 
And  in  her  princely  mansions 
The  peasant's  son  may  sit. 

God  grant  our  noble  city 
Forever  thus  to  stand, 
A  sentinel  of  freedom, 
Guarding  a  blessed  land. 

February  14,  1902. 


OLD  HOME  WEEK  IN  BOSTON 

ROME,  on  her  hills  of  vantage  throned, 
Gave  to  the  world  her  strenuous  rule. 

Isles  of  the  sea  her  empire  owned, 
The  Nations  studied  at  her  school. 

Resplendent  from  her  gates  went  forth 
The  legions  of  her  proud  defence, 

And  fiery  South  and  frozen  North 
Did  homage  to  her  eminence. 

Heroic  souls  her  counsels  gave; 

Wisdom  her  sturdy  conquests  held; 
Her  towering  eagle,  fierce  and  brave, 

The  tumult  of  the  peoples  quelled. 

The  forest  broods  a  better  way 
Than  the  rude  clutch  of  Rapine  saw. 

Within  her  walls,  to  stand  for  aye, 
Was  crowned  the  majesty  of  Law. 

Our  City  is  as  nobly  set, 

Stately  her  hills,  albeit  but  three, 
Glorious  about  her  parapet 

Floats  the  dear  Flag  of  Liberty. 
16 


OLD   HOME   WEEK   IN   BOSTON         17 

Strong  sons,  the  nurslings  of  her  hearth, 
For  freedom  won  the  Western  plains; 

To-day,  with  happy  pride  of  birth, 
They  come  to  show  their  splendid  gains. 

Fair  towns  they  builded  as  they  went; 

Empires  above  their  footsteps  grew; 
For  Justice  stood  their  armament, 

For  all  th'  illustrious  truth  they  knew. 

Now,  welcome  young  and  welcome  old! 

Salute  with  joy  each  sacred  bound! 
The  cradle  of  your  race  behold ! 

Let  the  ancestral  anthems  sound! 

And  let  our  Boston,  from  her  heights, 
Match  with  her  hills  the  virtues  three, 

And  crown  them,  as  with  beacons  bright, 
With  Faith  and  Hope  and  Charity. 


LEXINGTON  CENTENNIAL 

APRIL  IQTH,  1875 

ONE  hundred  years  the  world  hath  seen, 
Since,  bristling  on  these  meadows  green, 
The  British  foeman  mocked  our  sires, 
New  armed  beside  their  household  fires. 

The  troops  were  hastening  from  the  town 
To  hold  the  country  for  the  Crown; 
But  through  the  land  the  ready  thrill 
Of  patriot  hearts  ran  swifter  still. 

Our  Fathers  met  at  break  of  dawn. 
From  many  a  peaceful  haunt  they  come; 
From  homely  task  and  rustic  care, 
Marshalled  by  faith,  upheld  by  prayer. 

The  winter's  wheat  was  in  the  ground, 
Waiting  the  April  zephyr's  sound; 
But  other  growth  these  fields  should  bear 
When  War's  wild  summons  rent  the  air. 

Here  flowed  the  sacrificial  blood, 
Hence  sprang  the!t>ond  of  Brotherhood; 
18 


LEXINGTON   CENTENNIAL  19 

Here  rose  resolved  for  good  or  ill, 
The  Nation's  majesty  of  wilL 

Oh  Thou  who  Victor  dost  remain 
Above  the  slayer  and  the  slain, 
Not  ill  we  deem  that  in  Thy  might, 
That  day,  our  fathers  held  their  right. 

They  knew  not  that  their  ransomed  land 
To  free  the  vassal'd  Earth  should  stand; 
That  Thou,  through  all  their  toil  and  pain, 
A  home  of  nations  didst  ordain. 

Upon  this  field  of  Lexington 
We  hail  the  mighty  conquest  won, 
Invoking  here  Thy  mightier  name 
To  keep  our  heritage  from  shame. 

May  peaceful  generations  turn 
To  where  these  ancient  glories  burn; 
And  not  a  lesson  of  that  time 
Fade  from  men's  thoughts  through  wrong  and 
crime. 

Beside  the  hearth  let  freemen  still 
Keep  their  integrity  of  will, 
And  meet  the  treason  of  the  hour 
With  mind  resolved  and  steadfast  power. 


20  LEXINGTON   CENTENNIAL 

But  not  in  arms  be  our  defence; 
Give  us  the  strength  of  innocence, 
The  will  to  work,  the  heart  to  dare 
For  Truth's  great  battle,  everywhere. 

So  may  ancestral  conquests  live 
In  what  we  have  and  what  we  give; 
And 'the  great  boons  we  hold  from  Thee 
Turn  to  enrich  humanity. 


A  WORD  FOR  THE  MOMENT 

THE  BOXER  REBELLION 


ART-ANGEL  Guido  hangs  upon  my  wall 
A  moving  picture  of  the  Tempter's  fall. 
Michael,  bright  champion  of  the  heavenly  host, 
Treads  under  foot  the  leader  of  the  lost. 

4 

Buskined  with  light,  with  faultless  weapon  armed, 
He  stands  above  the  prostrate  foe,  unharmed. 
The  groveling  wretch  no  counter-blow  essays, 
Pinned  down  to  earth,  in  impotent  amaze. 

This  vision,  oft  encountered,  seems  to  say: 
The  brute  on  earth  shall  never  more  hold  sway; 
While,  glorious  as  a  seraph  from  the  skies, 
Freedom  makes  good  her  deathless  victories. 

ii 

The  legendary  fight  grows  pale 
Before  me,  as  I  hear  the  wail 
Of  men  on  noble  errand  sent 
And  held  with  murderous  intent, 
By  frantic  legions  that  essay 
To  stifle  Europe  in  Cathay. 
21 


22  A  WORD  FOR  THE  MOMENT 

My  fancy  shows  each  pallid  face, 
True  lovers,  locked  in  last  embrace; 
Parents  who  to  their  bosoms  strain 
The  babes  they  guard,  but  guard  in  vain. 

And  as  I  kneel  in  prayer,  I  cry: 
Father !  send  rescue  from  on  high ! 
The  ways  of  human  help  are  barred; 
Be  thou,  O  Lord  1  their  watch  and  ward ! 

Alas !  alas !  their  doom  is  sealed ! 
No  source  of  succor  is  revealed. 
But  still,  beyond  the  bounds  of  sense, 
Prevaileth  God's  omnipotence. 

His  seraph  messenger  may  come, 
E'en  to  that  fiend-beleaguered  home, 
And  unto  those  who  perish  give 
A  crown  denied  to  those  that  live. 

Ruler  of  all!  to  each  brave  heart 
The  joy  of  martyrdom  impart! 
Upon  thy  scroll  of  deathless  fame 
Write  them  with  those  who  overcame; 

Who,  folded  in  the  blessed  light 
Of  Christian  faith  and  Christian  right, 
Unto  the  bitter  end  abode, 
Sealed  in  the  armory  of  God. 
1900. 


VERSES  READ  AT  THE  COOPERS- 
TOWN  CENTENNIAL 

WHAT  village  of  the  western  wild 
Lifts  its  far  challenge  of  romance 

From  forests  by  the  axe  unspoiled, 
From  where  the  skin-clad  sachems  dance  ? 

Whose  was  the  note  ?  A  bard  of  old 

Held  nature  subject  to  his  song, 
Whose  ringing  strophes,  clear  and  bold, 

The  echoes  of  the  world  prolong. 

So,  kindled  with  poetic  fire, 

Aspiring  from  the  virgin  sod 
Came  he  who,  to  our  heart's  desire, 

The  measure  of  the  Muses  trod. 

What  voice  like  his  the  legend  taught, 

The  story  of  our  pilgrim  days  ? 
The  march  with  deadly  danger  fraught, 

The  heroes  ignorant  of  praise: 

The  hunter  bold,  the  savage  dark, 
The  breath  of  regions  unprofaned, 
23 


24      THE  COOPERSTOWN  CENTENNIAL 

The  rover  with  his  phantom  bark, 
The  valiant  spirits,  rudely  trained? 

Be  dear  to  us  this  sylvan  ground 
That  holds  his  ashes  in  its  breast, 

While  songs  of  love  and  praise  resound 
Above  the  beauty  of  his  rest. 

August,  1907. 


HYMN    FOR    THE    INTERNATIONAL 
CONGRESS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LIBERALS 

HELD  IN  BOSTON,  1907 

HAIL  !  Mount  of  God,  whereon  with  reverent  feet 
The  messengers  of  many  nations  meet; 
Diverse  in  feature,  argument,  and  creed, 
One  in  their  errand,  brothers  in  their  need. 

Not  in  unwisdom  are  the  limits  drawn 
That  give  far  lands  opposing  dusk  and  dawn; 
One  sun  makes  bright  the  all-pervading  air, 
One  fostering  spirit  hovers  everywhere. 

So  with  one  breath  may  fervent  souls  aspire, 
With  one  high  purpose  wait  the  answering  fire. 
Be  this  the  prayer  that  other  prayers  controls,  — 
That  light  divine  may  visit  human  souls. 

The  worm  that  clothes  the  monarch  spins  no  flaw, 
The  coral  builder  works  by  heavenly  law; 
Who  would  to  Conscience  rear  a  temple  pure 
Must  prove  each  stone  and  seal  it,  sound  and  sure. 

Upon  one  steadfast  base  of  truth  we  stand, 
Love  lifts  her  sheltering  walls  on  either  hand; 
Arched  o'er  our  head  is  Hope's  transcendent  dome, 
And  in  the  Father's  heart  of  hearts  our  home. 
25 


KANSAS 

SING  us  a  song  of  the  grand  old  time, 
Of  John  Brown,  martyr,  our  pioneer. 
Tell  how,  in  view  of  a  nation's  crime, 
We  breasted  the  wilderness,  lone  and  drear. 
Bible  and  rifle  in  hand  we  went, 
To  rear  in  the  desert  our  flag  and  tent . 

For  a  wicked  bugle  note  had  called 

The  men  who  would  hold  their  fellow  slave; 

When,  at  its  falseness  unappalled, 

Came  forth  a  company  clean  and  brave, 

Unfettered  by  customs  old  and  ill, 

With  the  freeman's  mind  and  the  freeman's  will. 

Some  who  started  in  manhood's  bloom 
Short  time  abode  and  never  returned, 
But  most  of  us  stayed  as  we  found  room, 
And  fairly  the  Pilgrim's  guerdon  earned. 
With  nights  of  watching  and  days  of  toil, 
We  saved  from  dishonor  a  virgin  soil. 

Firm  on  our  shoulder  the  Duties  sate 
That  grow  with  the  growth  of  human  kind, 
26 


KANSAS  27 

No  worship  of  Fortune,  nor  creed  of  Fate, 
But  the  leadership  of  the  well-taught  mind. 
Where  the  wild  man  left  but  briar  and  thorn, 
We  planted  the  field,  and  gathered  the  corn. 

And  so,  we  builded  our  cities  fair, 
For  our  fathers'  tongue  and  our  fathers'  faith. 
The  church  spire  hallowed  our  place  of  prayer, 
The  school  bell  uttered  its  blessed  breath, 
And  he  who  crosses  our  bound  shall  find 
That  he  leaves  no  gain  of  the  age  behind. 

With  many  a  weary  task  't  was  done, 
With  murder  lurking  in  thicket  and  grove, 
With  backs  that  ached  'neath  a  burning  sun, 
With  homes  that  sheltered  but  thrift  and  love. 
We  lightened  our  labor  with  speech  and  song, 
And  the  women  worked  with  us,  right  along! 

Now,  half  a  hundred  years  have  sped 
To  make  the  desert  a  blooming  state; 
We  thank  our  God  for  honest  bread, 
For  duteous  children  and  loving  mate, 
But  most,  that  the  Fathers  went  out  to  see 
The  land  redeemed  for  liberty. 


THE  PLAYHOUSE 

READ  AT  THE  CASTLE  SQUARE  THEATRE,  MAY  IO,  1905 

'T  is  writ  that  Troy's  wild  prophetess 
In  vision  mystical  could  guess, 
When  to  th'  Atrides  roof  she  came, 
The  story  of  its  deeds  of  shame  — 
Before  her  passed  the  victims  slain, 
Glowed  at  her  feet  the  bloody  stain. 

But  I,  approaching  this  fair  scene, 
Divine  the  Joy  that  here  hath  been, 
Where,  each  in  his  enchanted  seat, 
The  lovers  of  the  drama  meet, 
While  Art  unfolds  the  magic  page 
That  charms  mankind  from  age  to  age. 

Here  have  you  read  in  pictures  fair 
The  lesson  of  the  things  that  were ; 
Othello,  terrible  and  brave, 
Hamlet,  discoursing  o'er  a  grave, 
Macbeth  with  fatal  aim  pursuing 
The  deed  that  ends  in  his  undoing, 
And  types  more  modern,  strange  and  rich, 
Framed  to  bewilder  and  bewitch. 


THE  PLAYHOUSE  29 

And  here  for  countless  days  to  come, 
Shall  harmless  Pleasure  make  her  home. 
Here  shall  you  mark  the  season's  flight 
With  memories  of  pure  delight, 
While  Wisdom  in  each  quaint  disguise 
Your  deeper  thought  shall  recognise. 
Your  plaudits  shall  the  Right  uphold, 
Your  censure  shame  the  villain  bold, 
Your  love  enthrone  life's  greatest  good, 
The  glory  of  true  humanhood. 


THE  NATION'S  HOLIDAY 

OUR  fathers  met  in  grief  and  gloom, 
And  as  the  Tyrant  spoke  their  doom 
They  answered,  "  Freedom  shall  have  room." 

Backward,  as  to  a  golden  store, 
They  looked  to  valiant  hearts  of  yore, 
Whose  might  the  people's  cause  up-bore. 

And  forward,  in  the  skies  above, 
They  saw  a  heavenly  banner  move, 
Whose  virtue  they  were  bound  to  prove. 

For  them  the  Galilean  taught 

The  truth  with  new  deliverance  fraught, 

And  'neath  His  martyr  flag  they  fought. 

Now  as  our  world  stands  at  a  loss, 
With  all  its  treasures,  all  its  dross 
To  match  the  riches  of  the  Cross, 

So,  pomp  of  flags  and  marches  gay 
And  martial  muster  and  array 
Are  all  too  poor  to  praise  this  day. 
30 


THE  NATION'S  HOLIDAY  31 

How  should  we  thank  for  boon  so  high  ? 
How  keep  above  the  things  that  die 
Our  holy  gift  of  Liberty  ? 

With  duteous  heart  revere  the  Past, 
Its  doctrine  and  its  deeds  hold  fast, 
But  know,  they  should  be  over-passed. 

The  harvest  that 't  is  ours  to  reap 
With  blood  of  heroes  sown  so  deep, 
A  bloodless  vigilance  shall  keep. 

Build  nobler  temples,  and  enshrine 
On  the  heart's  altar  pure  and  fine, 
The  Brotherhood  that  is  divine. 

For  our  defence  throughout' the  land 
The  school  with  open  door  shall  stand, 
With  truth  and  love  in  high  command. 


From  us,  who  meet  with  one  intent, 

On  due  commemoration  bent, 

Be  this  fair  greeting  world- wide  sent: 

Not  for  us  only  did  befall 
The  good  we  conquered;  hear  us  call 
"One  freedom  and  one  God  for  all!" 


HYMN   FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

OUR  fathers  built  the  house  of  God; 

Rough-hewn,  with  haste  its  slabs  they  laid, 
The  savage  man  in  ambush  trod, 

And  still  they  worshiped  undismayed. 

They  wrought  like  stalwart  men  of  war, 
Who  wrung  the  state  from  heathen  hands; 

Who  bore  their  faith's  high  banner  far, 
And  in  its  name  possessed  the  lands. 

The  skill  of  strife  to  peaceful  arts, 
Their  perils  over,  glad  gave  way; 

The  bond  of  freedom  joined  men's  hearts 
More  near  than  meaner  compact  may. 

We,  followers  of  their  task  and  toil, 

Inherited  their  dangers  too; 
Drove  bloody  rapine  from  our  soil, 

Th'  oppressor  dared,  the  murderer  slew. 

Our  heavy  work,  like  theirs,  at  end; 

Returning  from  the  death-won  field, 
Brother  with  brother,  friend  with  friend 

Again  the  house  of  God  we  build. 
32 


HYMN  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY    33 

Oh!  may  our  ransomed  freedom  dwell 

In  truth's  own  citadel  secure; 
And  blameless  guardians  foster  well 

The  mystic  flame  that  must  endure. 

The  flame  of  holy  human  love, 
That  makes  our  liberties  divine; 

Let  each  strong  arm  its  champion  prove, 

And  each  true  heart  its  deathless  shrine. 
1865. 


THE  GLORIOUS  FOURTH 

UNFURL  the  flag,  ye  veterans  all, 
Respond  to  the  familiar  call! 
Let  Drum  and  Fife  awakened  be 
For  Freedom's  glorious  Reveille! 

The  gathering  crowds  with  haste  obey 
The  joyful  summons  of  the  day. 
The  cannon's  rhythmic  boom  resounds, 
The  snapping  fire  toy  goes  its  rounds. 

Above  the  noise,  above  the  sport, 
Shall  Justice  hold  her  sober  court: 
"You,  people  whom  this  day  set  free, 
What  shall  you  do  for  liberty  ?" 

"Our  friendly  harbors  open  stand, 
To  hail  the  ships  of  every  land. 
The  fainting  exile  at  our  door 
Finds  cheer  and  welcome  evermore. 

With  the  great  boon  that  we  have  gained 
A  holy  promise  is  enchained. 
Not  for  ourselves  alone  we  fought, 
But  for  a  wide  deliverance  wrought. 
34 


THE  GLORIOUS  FOURTH  35 

Freedom  is  in  the  dauntless  heart, 
The  will  t'  enact  a  noble  part, 
The  faith  that  reads  with  reverent  eyes 
A  message  writ  beyond  the  skies. 

While  yet  on  earth  one  Tyrant  wields 
The  scourge  that  strips  the  fertile  fields, 
While  one  his  iron  rule  doth  fling 
O'er  men  who  call  their  conscience  King, 
While  Right  from  armed  Might  must  flee, 
We  are  not  free,  we  are  not  free. 

Where  sets  the  Autocrat  his  seal, 
And  starving  hinds  his  prowess  feel, 
Where  bleeds  the  Christian  for  his  cross, 
There  do  we  suffer  pain  and  loss. 

As  in  one  temple  let  us  kneel 
To  pray  for  every  nation's  weal; 
Then  speed  the  messengers  of  peace 
To  cry:  "The  reign  of  blood  must  cease." 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TRUCE 

BETWEEN   THE    BRITISH  AND    THE   BOER  ARMIES 
DECEMBER    25,    1899 

AT  early  dawn,  one  wintry  day, 
Two  armies,  oft  encountering,  lay 
Pledged  to  a  fierce  and  fatal  fight, 
Each  hateful  in  the  other's  sight. 

Why  sounds  no  more  the  iron  rain 
Of  missiles,  nor  the  cry  of  pain  ? 
And  why  do  foemen  greeting  send 
As  to  a  brother,  or  a  friend  ? 

In  ancient  times  of  bloody  war 
Stood  portents  in  the  heavens  afar, 
And  cloud-built  hosts  with  seeming  rage 
Approached  each  other  to  engage. 

What  stood  between  the  foes  that  day 
To  keep  the  battle-fiend  away? 
What  emblem  consecrates  the  morn  ? 
The  vision  of  a  Babe  new-born, 

Foreseen  in  many  a  prophet's  mind 
As  the  Redeemer  of  Mankind; 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TRUCE  37 

Belov'd,  for  help  that  He  should  bring 
To  human  woe  and  suffering. 

The  centuries  that  lie  between 
His  sacred  glory  cannot  screen. 
He  bids  the  bitter  conflict  cease, 
And  lifts  His  infant  voice  lor  peace. 

Oh!  Babe  adored!  What  passions  wild 
Are  stilled  before  that  little  Child 
Whose  gentle  Mother  shall  become 
The  guardian  spirit  of  the  home ! 

His  two  small  hands  are  stretched  in  love 

The  sanguinary  fields  above. 
"Oh!  harm  each  other  not !  "  He  cries. 
"Henceforth  encounter  brotherwise." 

Thus  He  who  lived  and  died  for  all 
Announced  His  holy  festival, 
And  so  th'  opposing  armies  lay 
At  peace  on  blessed  Christmas  Day. 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  PEACE 

WRITTEN  FOR  CHILDREN 

BID  the  din  of  battle  cease! 

Folded  be  the  wings  of  fire ! 
Let  your  courage  conquer  peace, — 

Every  gentle  heart's  desire. 

Let  the  crimson  flood  retreat! 

Blended  in  the  arc  of  love, 
Let  the  flags  of  nations  meet; 

Bind  the  raven,  loose  the  dove. 

At  the  altar  that  we  raise 

King  and  Kaiser  may  bow  down; 
Warrior-knights  above  their  bays 

Wear  the  sacred  olive  crown. 

Blinding  passion  is  subdued, 

Men  discern  their  common  birth, 

God  hath  made  of  kindred  blood 
All  the  peoples  of  the  earth. 

High  and  holy  are  the  gifts 
He  has  lavished  on  the  race,  — 

38 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  PEACE  39 

Hope  that  quickens,  prayer  that  lifts, 
Honor's  meed,  and  beauty's  grace. 

As  in  Heaven's  bright  face  we  look 
Let  our  kindling  souls  expand; 

Let  us  pledge,  on  nature's  book, 
Heart  to  heart  and  hand  to  hand. 

For  the  glory  that  we  saw 

In  the  battle-flag  unfurled, 
Let  us  read  Christ's  better  law: 

Fellowship  for  all  the  world! 

1899. 


AFTER  THE  CONVENTION1 

SOFT  I  hear  the  church  bell  tolling  in  the  distance 

clear  and  warm, 
Standing  thought-bound  in  the  hollow  of  my  little 

Portsmouth  farm. 
I  to  church  would  not  be  going,  here  is  church 

enough  for  me, 
Let  my  ducks  and  geese  give  sermon  and  my  brook 

make  symphony. 

What,  profane  one  ?  art  thou  turning  from  the  altar, 

from  the  creed  ? 
Can  the  trees  impress  thy  conscience  and  the  bushes 

help  thy  need  ? 
Oh!  I  come  from  days  of  talking,  full  of  reasons 

long  drawn  out. 
Now,  God's  minister  of  silence  comes  to  compass 

me  about. 

My  remembrance  of  the  women !  from  the  forehead 

crowned  in  white 
Through  the   shadows  brown   and    chestnut,   to 

youth's  tingling  bloom  and  light; 

i  Evidently  written  many  years  ago,  and  never  revised. 
40 


AFTER  THE  CONVENTION  41 

And  the  thoughtful  words  they  uttered,  bright  with 

fancy,  fond  with  faith, 
Firm  with  sober  sense  and  resting  upon  truths  that 

conquer  death. 

But  not  alien  to  that  meeting  is  this  cluster  of  my 
trees, 

Where  I  pick  the  fallen  apple  and  attend  the  rus 
tling  breeze; 

And  the  nuts  are  not  yet  gathered.  Oh!  the  boys 
have  need  of  them, 

Feast  thou  only  on  the  mirror  pond  and  dazzling 
diadem! 


They  are  praying  as  they  stand  there,  not  in  doubt 

and  not  in  fear, 
Winter  showing  in  the  distance  that  shall  make 

their  beauty  drear; 
They  endure  with  stern  composure  all  the  shifting 

of  the  sun, 
Sighing  oft  the  woman's  whisper  —  let  the  will  of 

God  be  done! 

No !  an  impulse  stolen  from  summer  lights  them  up 

before  mine  eyes 
As  its  lovely  Indian  changeling  wafts  a  thought  of 

Paradise. 


42  AFTER  THE  CONVENTION 

In  the  change  of  things  diurnal  they  discern  the 

changeless  law, 
And  great  life's  eternal  gospel  thrills  their  heart 

with  sudden  awe. 

For  that  mighty  truth  gives  freedom,  far  beyond 

the  buds  of  spring, 
And  the  swelling  fruit  of  summer,  and  the  autumn's 

gathering. 
To  the  parent  soul  unswerving  all  things  bud  and 

blossom  on, 
And  the  summer's  good  departs  not  when  the 

summer's  breath  is  gone. 

So  the  maple  flushes  fervent,  looking  up  to  Heav 
en's  blue  ken, 

So  the  purple  ash  beside  her  breathes  its  soberer 
Amen. 

And  the  yellow  oaks  in  copses,  with  a  logic  of  their 
own, 

Link  the  litany  of  autumn  in  a  mellow  monotone. 

Days  may  perish,  life  endureth  —  in  the  winter 

harsh  and  rude 
May  decline  our  outward  beauty,  not  our  inner 

power  and  word, 
Spring  shall  bring  us  new  rejoicing,  autumn  crown 

us  where  we  stand, 


AFTER  THE  CONVENTION  43 

When  our  cycles  shall  be  numbered,  still  our  seed 
shall  keep  the  land. 

What  the  autumn  trees  can  pray  for  ?   What  the 

elder  women  say; 
Straight  from  Thee  our  being  cometh,  Thou  who 

livest  now  and  aye. 
Let  us  hold  the  precious  essence,  like  pure  vases 

void  of  blame, 
Handing  down  its  sweet  conditions  to  the  things 

that  keep  our  name. 

But  the  law  of  life  is  progress;  as  the  forests  bloom 

and  grow, 
So  the  fortunes  of  great  womankind  in  onward 

sweep  we  know. 
Grant  us  faith  to  gifts  imparted  in  the  viewing  of 

the  sun, 
Faithful  fruitage,  true  transmission,  and  the  will 

of  God  is  done! 


THE  QUEEN'S  JUBILEE 

TH'  assembled  crowd  of  subjects  wait 
The  passing  of  a  car  of  state 
With  mounted  guard  and  herald  quaint, 
With  ermined  peer  and  mitred  saint. 

Right  royally  the  coursers  prance, 
The  sovereign,  glittering  to  the  glance 
With  priceless  gems  of  every  clime, 
Moves  on  with  bell  and  trumpet  chime. 

Why  does  the  splendid  pageant  stand 
Arrested  by  a  waving  hand  ? 
An  antic  steed  with  murderous  feet 
O'erthrows  an  urchin  of  the  street. 

The  Empress  of  as  proud  a  realm 
As  e'er  saw  statesman  at  its  helm, 
Commands  the  pause,  that  she  may  know 
What  harm  o'ertook  that  stripling  low. 

Where  dwells  the  grace  that  fits  a  queen  ? 

In  bearing  haughty  or  serene  ? 

In  lofty  attitude  of  mind? 

In  pomps  that  dazzle  humankind? 

44 


THE  QUEEN'S  JUBILEE  45 

The  queenliest  action  of  that  day 
When  cheering  thousands  marked  her  way, 
Was  that  which  showed  how  simply  good 
Was  the  great  lady's  womanhood. 

1897. 


DECORATION  DAY 

EARTH  from  her  winter  slumber  breaks; 
The  morning  of  the  year  awakes. 
The  vital  warmth  that  buried  lay 
Transcends  again  its  house  of  clay, 
And  to  the  greeting  of  the  skies 
With  thrilling  harmony  replies. 

A  promise  breathes  from  every  furrow: 
"Dark  yesterday  makes  bright  to-morrow. 
Pursue  no  more  the  midnight  oil; 
The  sunlight  measures  cheer  and  toil; 
The  winds  proclaim,  with  odorous  breath, 
The  life  that  triumphs  over  death." 

Yet  vanished  days  of  many  a  year 
Remain  to  us  possessions  dear; 
We  call  the  roll  of  those  who  dared; 
We  bless  the  saints  who  hardly  fared, 
Lending  their  martyred  flesh  to  be 
The  torchlight  of  Truth's  victory. 

Still  may  we  utter  solemn  praise 
Of  those  whose  prowess  filled  their  days 
46 


DECORATION  DAY  47 

With  thoughts  and  deeds  of  high  renown, 
Which  now  our  floral  offerings  crown. 
But  as  our  earth  from  south  to  north 
Her  glorious  promise  blazons  forth, 
And  timid  spring  and  summer  bold 
On  autumn  pour  their  wealth  of  gold, 

So  let  our  buried  heroes  live 
In  hands  that  freely  guard  and  give, 
In  minds  that,  watchful,  entertain 
Great  thoughts  of  Justice  and  her  reign, 
That  tend,  all  other  tasks  above, 
The  household  fires  of  faith  and  love, 
And  keep  our  banner,  wide  unfurled, 
A  pledge  of  blessing  to  the  world. 
1908. 


DECORATION  DAY 

SCHOOL  AT  WELLESLEY  HILLS 

SAD  festival,  thy  name  recalls 
The  faces  pictured  on  our  walls, 
The  valiant  hearts  that  many  a  year 
Are  wanting  to  the  household  cheer. 

A  shape  went  forth  on  bounding  foot, 
Returned,  a  prisoner  dread  and  mute; 
The  blood  that  in  its  veins  did  leap 
Stained  the  pale  marble  of  its  sleep. 

Tears  followed  on  those  days  of  doom, 
And  garlands  for  the  hero's  tomb; 
That  fount  of  grief  has  never  dried, 
Those  garlands  never  are  denied. 

Of  years  a  score  have  nearly  passed 
Since  our  war  bugle  blew  its  last. 
Where  steel  met  steel  for  bitter  loss, 
The  threads  of  reconcilement  cross. 

The  brothers  who  were  sundered  then 
The  bond  of  kindred  own  again. 
And  South  and  North,  and  East  and  West, 
One  life  thrills  in  one  nation's  breast. 
48 


DECORATION  DAY  49 

Forever  blessed  be  their  name, 
Forever  sacred  be  their  claim 
Who  fought  for  that  heroic  tie, 
Who  fell  for  Freedom's  family. 

Fair  maids  who  here  secluded  wait 
On  Duty  throned  in  Training's  state, 
This  day  to  you  a  lesson  bears 
More  weighty  than  the  schoolroom's  cares. 

Yours  is  the  motherhood  of  men, 
The  priesthood  of  life's  deepened  ken. 
Oh!  may  all  words  of  sages  rise, 
All  poets'  songs  of  many  skies, 
Teach  you  a  wisdom  deep  and  true, 
A  virtue  brave,  a  music  new. 

To  you  Columbia  fondly  looks. 
Informed  with  diagrams  and  boobs, 
She  sees  you,  steadfast,  climb  the  hill, 
Your  urns  from  silvery  fountains  fill, 

And,  linking  soft  a  silken  band, 
She  lays  the  clasp  within  your  hand, 
And  says:  "  Your  task  must  never  cease; 
Aid  noble  men  to  keep  God's  peace." 


THE  DEPARTING  CENTURY  1 

I  WAS  baptized  in  blood,  and  saw  the  light 
When  wrong  paraded  in  the  garb  of  right, 
When  dreams  of  poet  and  o!  ancient  sage, 
Illumining  the  world's  confused  page, 
Were  crossed  with  sanguine  horror,  guilt  whose 

shame 

Did  blot  the  nobler  with  the  baser  name. 
War's  furious  pulses  coursed  within  my  veins 
While  dear  my  spirit  held  enfranchised  plains 
Where    heavenly  peace,   whom  savage   discords 

wound, 
'Twixt  plant  and  plough  a  refuge  calm  had  found. 

In  sooth  no  common  destiny  was  mine, 

Truth's  oracles  my  wisdom  did  divine. 

Life's  faded  flag,  in  heroes'  heart's  blood  dyed, 

I  raised  and  floated,  ever  to  abide 

Where  cloud  nor  mist  nor  armament  should  hide. 

The  mellow  beauty  of  my  afternoon 
Provoked  the  prophet's  word,  the  poet's  rune, 

i  Copied  Oct.  I4th,  1901.  All  this  rushed  into  my  mind  one 
afternoon  when  I  lay  down  to  take  my  half-hour's  rest.  This  I 
was  forced  to  abbreviate  in  order  to  record  the  lines  above.  They 
are  very  rough.  I  wish  I  could  improve  them. . 

50 


THE  DEPARTING  CENTURY  51 

And  sun  did  never  set  so  grand  and  free 
As  mine,  in  gold  and  crimson  blazonry. 

Above  my  ashes  do  not  celebrate 
The  contests  blind  of  old  imagined  Fate. 
Build  me  enduring  monuments  of  stone, 
But  no  uncertain  message  write  thereon. 

Conceived  in  Doubt,  engendered  of  Despair, 
Pledged  to  all  deeds  that  men  may  dream  and  dare, 
I  moved  unfaltering  to  the  solemn  height 
Where  warring  rainbows  meet  in  perfect  light. 
Truth  was  my  guest,  belief  in  her  my  power, 
And  of  such  good  transcendent  was  my  dower 
That  I  shall  live  in  memory  and  in  Fame 
As  long  as  man  his  manhood's  meed  may  claim ; 
Beloved  for  fetters  loosed,  for  veils  unbound, 
For   God's   great   word,   by   God's   great   order 
crowned. 


PERSONAL    POEMS 


TO  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

ON   THE   COMPLETION   OF  HIS   SEVENTIETH   YEAR 

Thou  metamorphic  god ! 
Who  mak'st  the  steep  Olympus  thy  abode, 

Hermes  to  subtle  laughter  moving, 

Apollo  with  serener  loving. 

Thou  demigod  also! 
Who  dost  all  the  powers  of  healing  know; 

Thou  hero  who  dost  wield 

The  golden  sword  and  shield,  — 

Shield  of  a  comprehensive  mind, 
And  sword  to  wound  the  foes  of  human  kind; 

Thou  man  of  noble  mould! 

Whose  metal  grows  not  cold 
Beneath  the  hammer  of  the  hurrying  years; 

A  fiery  breath  doth  blow 

Across  its  fervid  glow, 
And  still  its  resonance  delights  our  ears. 

Loved  of  thy  brilliant  mates, 

Relinquished  to  the  fates, 
Whose  spirit  music  used  to  chime  with  thine, 

Transfigured  in  our  sight, 

Not  quenched  in  death's  dark  night, 
They  hold  thee  in  companionship  divine. 
55 


56         TO  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

0  autocratic  muse! 
Soul-rainbow  of  all  hues, 

Packed  full  of  service  are  thy  bygone  years; 

Thy  winged  steed  doth  fly 

Across  the  starry  sky, 
.Bearing  the  lowly  burthens  of  thy  tears. 

1  try  this  little  leap, 
Wishing  that  from  the  deep 

I  might  some  pearl  of  song  adventurous  bring. 

Despairing,  here  I  stop  — 

And  my  poor  offering  drop; 
Why  stammer  I  when  thou  art  here  to  sing? 
1879. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

How  shall  the  Muse  of  vanished  years 
Fitly  inscribe  his  two-fold  page? 
Wizard  of  laughter  and  of  tears, 
A  master  jester,  and  a  sage. 

A  presence  answering  to  the  cry, 
"Lord!  who  shall  show  us  any  good?" 
A  sheaf  of  sunbeams  passing  by, 
In  jewels  of  delight  renewed. 

Deftly  he  blew  the  pipes  of  Pan, 
Or  swept  Apollo's  golden  lyre; 
Rehearsing  all  the  fate  of  Man, 
How  he  must  suffer,  how  aspire. 

Oh !  stay  with  us !  Life  cannot  fail 
When  thou  its  varied  values  showest! 
Or  leave  us  thine  immortal  scale, 
And  all  the  wondrous  lore  thou  knowest! 

Weeping,  we  laid  his  form  in  earth, 
A  soldier,  fallen  in  the  trenches, 
A  winged  spirit,  free  of  birth; 
Look  up !  he  's  singing  in  the  branches. 
1894. 

57 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON 

READ  AT   THE   ALLSTON    CELEBRATION    OF  THE   NEW  ENG 
LAND  WOMEN'S  CLUB 

PRELUDE 

IMMORTAL  Presence  of  the  Beautiful ! 
Thee  our  attempted  festivals  invoke. 
In  Nature's  chaos,  passionless  and  dull, 
Thy  voice  the  spell  of  dark  disorder  broke. 

Ev'n  as  thy  fiat  sowed  the  heavens  with  light, 
Herald  of  glories  —  torch  of  worlds  unknown, 
Souls  didst  thou  kindle,  whose  effulgent  light 
The  lustre  of  thy  rolling  orbs  outshone. 

Our  human  hearts  alternate  day  and  night, 
Hopes  dawn,  attain  their  noontide,  and  decline; 
But  when  their  flattering  sun  has  spent  his  light, 
From  purple  depths  the  steadfast  spirits  shine. 

And  we  who  thank  for  breath,  and  health,  and 

sense, 

Our  great  world-sphere,  its  beauties  and  its  laws, 
Bless  most  that  ministry  of  life  intense 
Whose  holy  office  knows  nor  rest  nor  pause. 
58 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON  59 

We,  whispering  women,  like  an  insect  band 
Chirping  the  vespers  of  the  summer  day, 
Call  with  our  simple  music,  poorly  planned, 
On  a  majestic  soul,  beloved  for  aye. 

RECITAL 

The  Puritan  was  strict  and  lone. 
He  set  his  face,  like  flinty  stone, 
His  will  resolved  and  sturdy  hand 
To  drive  the  demons  from  the  land. 

In  his  belief,  the  harmful  Powers 
That  haunt  this  universe  of  ours 
Had  settled  purpose,  form,  and  face, 
That  ever  warred  with  saintly  grace. 

The  shots  he  aimed  were  good  and  true; 
A  thousand  evil  things  they  slew, 
Yet  other  evil,  springing  still, 
Brought  torment  to  his  manly  will. 

"Here  Law  and  Logic  rule,"  he  said, 

"Yet  Disbelief  erects  her  head. 
Sin  grows  apace,  we  work  with  pain, 
The  native  demons  still  remain." 

A  whisper  from  the  upper  air 
Lightened  with  love  that  heavy  care, 


60  WASHINGTON  ALLSTON 

And  bade  on  helpful  errand  start 
Th'  anointed  chivalry  of  Art. 

Supreme  in  that  inspired  band 
Did  Allston's  genius  bless  the  land, 
Enthroning  o'er  the  dark  abyss 
Transcendent  forms  of  heavenly  bliss. 

Time  flies  away,  with  joys  and  pains; 
His  guardian  presence  still  remains, 
His  noble  fire,  unquenched  of  death, 
His  sentence,  passing  human  breath. 

Those  silvery  curls,  those  lustrous  eyes, 
That  deep  regard,  so  kind  and  wise, 
The  habit  quaint,  the  kindling  smile 
Seen  in  our  frigid  streets  erewhile. 

All  these  are  lost,  but  not  the  dreams 
With  which  his  varied  canvas  gleams, 
We  lose  not,  with  life's  fleeting  span, 
The  measure  of  the  perfect  man. 

With  reverence,  on  the  tinted  walls 
That  bear  his  trace,  the  sunlight  falls; 
The  women  that  his  fancy  framed 
Are  never  doubted,  never  shamed. 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON  61 

Where  sits  the  wanton  at  his  feast, 
The  Prophet's  warning  heeding  least, 
Recalling  thee,  his  heart  shall  tell 
How  wild  Belshazzar  reigned,  and  fell. 

Trimountain,  crown  the  Master's  grave! 
Cherish  the  wondrous  gifts  he  gave 
Who,  called  to  other  spheres  away 
Bids  yet  his  steadfast  angels  stay. 


ROBERT  E.  LEE 

READ  AT  THE   RICHMOND   CELEBRATION   OF  THE   HUNDREDTH 
ANNIVERSARY  OF  GENERAL   LEE'S  BIRTH 

A  GALLANT  foeman  in  the  fight, 
A  brother  when  the  fight  was  o'er, 

The  hand  that  led  the  host  with  might 
The  blessed  torch  of  learning  bore. 

No  shriek  of  shell  nor  roll  of  drums, 
No  challenge  fierce,  resounding  far, 

When  reconciling  Wisdom  comes 
To  heal  the  cruel  wounds  of  war. 

Thought  may  the  minds  of  men  divide, 
Love  makes  the  hearts  of  nations  one; 

And  so,  thy  soldier  grave  beside, 
We  honor  thee,  Virginia's  son. 
January  19,  1907. 


62 


WILLIAM  ELLERY   CHANNING 

WRITTEN   FOR   THE    CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION   OF   HIS 
BIRTH,    AT   NEWPORT,    R.    I. 

I  COME  to-day  a  verse  to  build 

Which  skill  should  match  with  arches  fine, 

A  task  to  set  the  workman's  guild 

Whose  strength  shall  stand  for  things  divine. 

In  this  fair  isle,  by  Nature  blest, 

Where  men  for  health  and  pleasure  throng, 

I  call  a  spirit  from  its  rest, 

I  summon  back  a  soul  with  song. 

For  God  who  gave  this  genial  sky, 
The  rapture  of  this  mellow  air, 
Did  lend  in  happy  days  gone  by 
A  presence  grand,  an  influence  rare. 

Our  beauteous  seasons  wax  and  wane, 
And  bear  us  on  to  fate  and  death; 
But  he  shall  bloom  and  bloom  again 
In  every  generation's  breath. 

Oh!  fine  and  brave  that  subtle  hand 
Which  found  the  knots,  so  small  and  strong, 
63 


64  WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING 

By  which  belief  and  passion  band 
To  do  divine  and  human  wrong. 

He  caught  the  echo  of  the  wail 

Which  once  from  Calvary's  mountain  rolled, 

When  felt  the  Love  that  cannot  fail 

The  spite  of  superstition  old. 

His  voice  took  up  the  trumpet  blast 
Which  Hope's  glad  resurrection  blew, 
When  out  of  mystic  shadow  passed 
The  glory  that  the  Master  knew. 

Oh!  deep  of  heart,  oh!  true  of  thought! 
The  temper  of  thy  perfect  steel 
In  Heaven's  high  armory  was  wrought, 
The  strength  of  Justice  to  reveal. 

The  Negro  in  the  Southern  wild 
Had  cause  to  bless  thy  champion  name; 
The  Northern  freeman  for  his  child 
Thy  gracious  heritage  doth  claim. 

The  faith  that  maketh  Woman  free 
For  humankind  to  do  and  dare, 
The  peace  that  dwells  with  liberty 
Was  in  thy  teaching  and  thy  prayer. 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING  65 

Here  the  foundation  stone  we  lay 
Of  some  fine  fabric  that  shall  rise 
To  image  to  a  later  day 
Thee,  greatly  good,  and  purely  wise. 

When  God  vouchsafes  his  greatest  gift, 
The  Prophet,  crown  of  all  desire, 
Let  us  our  "duteous  emblem  lift, 
Let  us  endeavor  and  aspire. 

So  shall  the  work  we  strive  to  rear 
Be  crowned  with  blessing  in  our  sight; 
And,  like  the  life  we  honor  here, 
Reflect  the  everlasting  light. 

1880. 


MARGARET  FULLER 

WEITTEN  FOR  HER  CENTENARY 

FATE  dropt  our  Margaret 
Into  the  bitter  sea, 
A  pearl  in  golden  splendor  set 
For  spirit  majesty. 

Love  wore  her  on  his  hand 
And  Friendship  in  her  heart, 
She  glistened  in  the  jeweled  band 
Of  poesy  and  Art. 

Oh!  oft  the  diver  brings 
His  treasure  from  the  deep, 
And  out  of  deadly  danger  wrings 
The  gems  that  monarchs  keep. 

But  never  gift  so  fair 

His  venturous  task  repaid, 

Not  emblems  rich  that  Champions  wear 

At  Holytide  displayed. 

Th'  Egyptian's  gem  of  light 
Flashed  in  the  gleaming  wine, 
66 


MARGARET  FULLER  67 

A  regal  jewel  stol'n  from  sight 
To  grace  a  pomp  divine. 

So  He  who  laid  our  Pearl 
Deep  in  the  sapphire  sea 
Keeps  her  rare  essence  in  the  cup 
Of  immortality. 


1909. 


ARCHBISHOP  WILLIAMS'S   JUBILEE 

FIFTY  years  of  faithful  service, 

Saintly  record  and  renown; 
Better  than  the  poet's  laurels, 

He  shall  wear  the  patriarch's  crown. 

Let  the  generations  gather, 

Young  and  old  their  tributes  blend, 

For  the  orphan  calls  him  father, 
And  the  suffering  call  him  friend. 

In  the  name  of  God  most  holy 
Did  this  champion  take  the  field; 

For  the  love  of  Christ  the  lowly 
Has  he  ministered  and  healed. 

Benedictions  at  the  altar 
Hath  he  called  on  many  a  head; 

It  is  now  your  turn  to  bless  him 
Who  has  given  you  heavenly  bread. 

Let  the  generations  gather! 

Thanks  and  prayers  to  Heaven  ascend, 
To  the  everlasting  Father, 

For  the  Master,  Teacher,  Friend! 

1895. 

68 


JAMES  A.   GARFIELD 

OUR  sorrow  sends  its  shadow  round  the  earth. 
So  brave,  so  true !  A  hero  from  his  birth ! 
The  plumes  of  Empire  moult,  in  mourning  draped, 
The  lightning's  message  by  our  tears  is  shaped. 

Life's  vanities  that  blossom  for  an  hour 
Heap  on  his  funeral  car  their  fleeting  flower. 
Commerce  forsakes  her  temples,  blind  and  dim, 
And  pours  her  tardy  gold  to  homage  him. 

The  notes  of  grief  to  age  familiar  grow 
Before  the  sad  privations  all  must  know; 
But  the  majestic  cadence  which  we  hear 
To-day,  is  new  in  either  hemisphere. 

What  crown  is  this,  high  hung  and  hard  to  reach, 
Whose  glory  so  outshines  our  laboring  speech  ? 
The  crown  of  Honor,  pure  and  unbetrayed ; 
He  wins  the  spurs  who  bears  the  knightly  aid. 
1881. 


69 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER 

THE  chrism  of  Christ  was  on  his  brow, 
The  sword  of  Paul  within  his  hand, 
As  pledged  by  a  Crusader's  vow 
He  met  the  evil  of  the  land. 

Yet  with  his  armed  presence  went 
His  poet  song,  of  love  inspired, 
And  his  rebukes,  of  stern  intent, 
With  charity  divine  were  fired. 

"What  ho!  thou  Quaker  grim,  come  down ! 
The  mob  is  clamoring  for  thy  blood!" 
I  do  not  fear  the  Martyr's  crown 
Since  Truth  must  conquer,  by  the  rood. 

"How  shouldst  thou  go,  thou  man  of  Peace, 
Where  Tyranny's  red  banners  wave  ?  " 
Until  the  bitter  feud  shall  cease, 
I  take  my  stand  beside  the  slave. 

So  Michael,  with  a  brow  of  Heaven, 
Trod  the  brute  Satan  underneath; 
So  to  each  loyal  soul  is  given 
The  glory  of  Faith's  civic  wreath. 

70 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIER  71 

And  thou  wert  crowned,  when  crowned  were 
Thy  heart's  high  wishes  for  thy  kind, 
When  spirits  breathed  a  purer  air, 
And  light  prevailed  o'er  passions  blind. 

Thy  linked  lustres  sped  away, 
Bringing  the  heavenly  hope  more  near, 
While  God's  great  order  of  our  day 
Grew  to  thy  earnest  sight  more  clear. 

Numbers  were  gathered  in  thy  train, 
The  captive  helped  in  sorest  need; 
And  souls  that  knew  a  subtler  chain, 
From  iron  superstition  freed. 

The  song  of  labor  thou  mad'st  sweet, 
Setting  thy  tent  on  ocean  beach; 
When  snow-bound  were  thy  sober  feet, 
Thy  mind  essayed  her  eagle  reach. 

How  shall  we  yield  thee  ?  Time  doth  rob 
The  very  oracles  divine. 
The  heart  of  love  forgets  to  throb, 
Silent  and  empty  is  the  shrine. 

Yet  was  it  burial  when  men  laid 
In  earth  thy  reverend  fold  of  dust? 
Was  thy  life  ended  when  they  prayed 
Above  thy  grave  in  trembling  trust  ? 


72  JOHN  G.  WHITTIER 

Nay,  with  the  spirit  of  thine  age 
Mingles  the  breath  that  did  suspire; 
And  spread  on  many  a  radiant  page 
Abides  the  wealth  of  thy  desire. 

And  Freedom  seated  on  her  rock 
Above  the  wrecks  of  Fate  o'erthrown, 
Thy  record  holds  beyond  the  shock 
Of  change,  her  treasure,  and  our  own. 

1892. 


WHITTIER 

•READ  AT  THE  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION  AT  HAVERHILL, 
DECEMBER  17,   1907 

A  SPIRIT  in  our  midst  abode, 
A  champion,  risking  life  and  limb, 
With  firm  intent  to  bear  the  load 
That  Fate  had  meted  out  to  him: 

The  burthen  of  an  evil  time 

That  grieved  men's  souls  with  forfeit  pledge  ; 

The  task,  t'  assail  a  nation's  crime 

With  weapon  of  celestial  edge. 

For  still  a  son  of  Peace  was  he, 
Servant  and  master  of  the  lyre ; 
All  bloodless  must  his  warfare  be, 
Launched  all  in  love  his  bolts  of  fire. 

Such  victories  are  given  to  song 
As  slaughter  never  may  achieve, 
"When  the  rapt  soul  is  wooed  from  wrong 
Some  heavenly  lesson  to  receive. 

I  saw  him  when  the  locks  that  crown 
Fair  youth  were  heaped  above  his  brow; 
73 


74  WHITTIER 

His  eyes  like  lustrous  jewels  shone, 
The  trifler's  world  they  did  not  know. 

Feathered  as  from  an  angel's  wing 
The  arrows  of  his  quiver  flew; 
A  thrill  of  sorrow  they  might  bring, 
A  wound,  and  yet  a  balsam  too. 

Soon  War's  wild  music  filled  the  land, 
And  fields  of  fight  were  won  and  lost, 
When  grieving  Conscience  made  her  stand 
To  pay  the  debt  of  deadly  cost. 

And  many  were  the  days  of  dole 
Before  the  bitter  strife  could  cease. 
But  ever  that  anointed  soul 
Dwelt  in  its  citadel  of  Peace. 

Thence,  like  an  anthem  rising  clear, 
Rang  out  the  poet's  helpful  word; 
Melodious  messages  of  cheer 
Above  the  battle  din  were  heard. 

And  years  of  labor  came  and  went, 
But  ere  he  passed  the  bound  of  Fate 
His  days  were  crowned  with  high  content; 
He  saw  his  land  regenerate. 


WHITTIER  75 

Methought  that  from  the  Poet's  grave 
'  A  whisper  thrilled  the  ear,  that  said: 
"  Surrender  not  his  music  brave, 

For  while  it  lives,  he  is  not  dead. 

"And  when,  with  other  sounds  of  earth 
Shall  pass  the  beauty  of  his  rhyme, 
Eternity  shall  keep  the  worth 
Lost  from  the  treasury  of  Time." 


ABBY  WILLIAMS  MAY 

HER  feet  were  ever  ready, 
Her  hand  was  ever  steady; 

The  onward  sweep 

Of  purpose  deep 
Disclosed  no  flaw  nor  eddy. 

On  many  an  errand  went  she, 
To  many  a  trouble  bent  she, 
Such  helpful  thought, 
Such  counsel  brought, 
The  bloom  of  youth  thus  spent  she. 

A  maiden  of  high  feature, 
Of  good  and  glorious  nature, 

Dear  to  His  heart 

Who  did  impart 
Such  grace  unto  His  creature. 

So  may  sweet  peace  betide  her 
Whose  holy  laws  did  guide  her, 
And  all  that's  blest 
In  God's  dear  rest 
Be  with  her  and  beside  her. 
1888. 

76 


FOR    THE    FIFTIETH    BIRTHDAY    OF 
JAMES  FREEMAN   CLARKE 

APRIL  4,    i860 

A  WEIGHT  I  bear,  and  a  task  I  share, 

Of  glad  and  generous  sympathy. 
These  loving  hearts  have  all  their  parts, 

In  the  spring-song  I  must  echo  thee. 

Each  eloquent  soul  would  keep  control 

Of  the  Poet's  slender  gift  of  words, 
As  an  instrument  that  should  give  consent 

To  the  waiting  music  of  many  birds. 

But  the  wings  of  love  that  bear  above, 
Shall  help  me  to  bring  my  burthen  near; 

And  my  stammering  tongue,  leaving  half  unsung, 
Can  tell  how  we  prize  thee,  Master  dear. 

For  these  fifty  years  we  thank  with  tears 
The  tender  hand  that  hath  counted  them; 

And  we  thank  again  for  those  that  remain 
Still  veiled  in  God's  unseen  diadem. 

The  roses  flung,  and  the  incense  swung, 
Are  for  youth's  bright  matins  and  manhood's 
prime; 

77 


78  JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE 

But  the  tapers  are  lit  for  the  patient  feet 
That  follow  the  pensive  vesper  chime. 

Within  thy  fold,  safe  as  of  old, 

Still  gather  us  each  bright  Sabbath  morn; 
Call  home  thy  sheep,  that  wander  and  weep, 

Comfort  the  weary  and  briar-worn. 

That  years  a  score  may  sweep  us  o'er, 
Walking  yet  serene  the  heavenward  way, 

A  loving  band,  that  the  shepherd's  hand 
Brings  near  the  bounds  of  the  brighter  day. 

Till  transfigured  quite,  in  its  holy  light, 
We  hear,  still  clinging  close  to  thee: 

"Father,  I  come  to  my  heavenly  home, 
With  the  children  thou  hast  given  me." 


FOR     THE     SEVENTIETH    BIRTHDAY 
OF  JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE 

WHO  knocks?  Pass  on,  I  pray: 

Thou  hast  mistook  the  way. 
All  that  I  had  I  gave  in  days  of  yore. 

If  that  thy  need  be  great, 

Since  Age  doth  me  abate, 
Ask  jocund  Youth  to  help  thee  from  his  store. 

Yet  stay.  For  whom  the  feast? 

"For  one  to  whom  the  least 
Of  what  we  owe  is  such  fond  gratitude 

As  from  the  dumb  might  wring 

Attempted  uttering, 
And  from  thy  lips  the  breath  of  song  renewed." 

Then  shall  my  heart  indite 

Whate'er  my  hand  can  write 
From  out  the  wasted  treasure  of  my  time. 

For,  silent  here  to  sit, 

And  fear  my  failing  wit,  % 
My  soul  should  count  it  very  near  a  crime. 

'T  was  thy  persuasive  thought 
My  errant  fancy  caught 

When  height  of  wisdom  matched  not  length  of  years; 
79 


8o  JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE 

When  still,  with  airy  schemes, 
And  many-featured  dreams/ 
I  wrought  at  childish  tasks  with  childish  tears. 

If  ever  to  the  good 

Of  holy  womanhood 
Mine  own  with  saintlier  spirits  did  aspire, 

Where  was  the  lesson  writ, 

My  slumberous  sense  to  hit, 
As  by  thy  hand,  in  characters  of  fire  ? 

For  such  a  glittering  net 

Doth  human  souls  beset, 
That  from  its  bonds  they  have  no  power  to  flee, 

Till  smites  that  sword  of  truth 

Which  owes  no  error  ruth, 
And  by  pain's  costly  ransom  they  are  free. 

'T  were  idle  in  this  verse 

The  reasons  to  rehearse 
For  which  we  crown  to-day  thy  front  beloved. 

Thou  didst  thy  life  impart 

With  such  a  gracious  art, 
We  scarcely  knew  the  spell  by  which  we  moved. 

What  nuptials  hast  thou  blest ! 
What  dear  ones  laid  to  rest ! 
What  infants  welcomed  with  the  holy  sign  ! 


JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE  8 1 

Life's  hospitality 
Was  so  akin  to  thee, 
That  half  of  all  our  good  and  ill  was  thine. 

In  dark,  perplexing  days, 

When  sorrow  silenced  praise, 
We  saw  thy  light  above  the  vapors  dim, 

In  battle's  din  and  shout 

Thy  clarion  blast  rang  out: 
"The  victory  is  God's,  we  follow  Him." 

Thy  life  has  had,  like  ours, 

Its  sunshine  and  its  showers, 
Has  reached  the  heights  of  joy,  the  depths  of  grief; 

But  richer  hath  it  been 

By  all  the  gifts  serene 
That  make  the  leader,  brother,  friend,  and  chief. 

Bring  then  the  palm  and  vine, 

Roses  with  lilies  twine, 
And  let  us  image  in  our  offered  wreath 

The  life  enriched  with  toil, 

The  consecrating  oil, 
And  love  that  fears  not  time,  and  knows  not  death. 


JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE 

READ  AT  THE  ONE  HUNDREDTH  ANNIVERSARY  OF  HIS  BIRTH, 
CHURCH   OF   THE   DISCIPLES,    BOSTON,    APRIL   3,    IQIO 

RICHER  gift  can  no  man  give 
Than  he  doth  from  God  receive. 
We  in  greatness  would  have  pleasure, 
But  we  must  accept  our  measure. 
Let  us  question,  then,  the  grave, 
Querying  what  the  Master  gave, 
Whom,  in  his  immortal  state, 
Grateful  love  would  celebrate. 

Only  human  life  was  his, 
With  its  thin-worn  mysteries. 
Shall  we  not  describe  him,  "Man, 
Built  to  last  a  little  span, 
Like  our  Earth,  his  dwelling-place, 
Swung  aloft,  'twixt  Time  and  Space, 
Tuned  for  ecstasy  and  pain, 
Ever  prompted  to  attain 
For  the  blessing  or  the  curse 
That  Eternities  rehearse?" 
Lifting  from  the  Past  its  veil, 
What  of  his  does  now  avail  ? 
82 


JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE  83 

Just  a  mirror  in  his  breast 
That  revealed  a  heavenly  guest, 
And  the  love  that  made  us  free 
Of  the  same  high  company. 
These  he  brought  us,  these  he  left 
When  we  were  of  him  bereft. 

He  was  resolute  and  bright, 

Was  a  hero  in  the  fight, 

Trained  his  gifts  of  speech  and  song 

Holy  lessons  to  prolong, 

Made  the  great  Apostle's  dream 

Present  still  and  potent  seem. 

Human  fortunes  we  must  share, 
Must  endeavor,  must  forbear; 
Days  of  weakness,  nights  of  pain, 
Try,  and  turn,  and  try  again; 
But  Golconda  has  no  mine 
Could  that  legacy  outshine, 
Did  we  keep,  through  good  and  ill, 
James  Freeman's  angel  with  us  still. 


LUCY  STONE 

FULL  of  honors  and  of  years, 

Lies  our  friend  at  rest, 
Passing  from  earth's  hopes  and  fears 

To  the  ever  Blest. 

One  of  the  anointed  few 
Touched  with  special  grace 

For  a  life  whose  service  true 
Should  redeem  the  race. 

Where  is  that  persuasive  tone 

Welcome  in  our  ears? 
Still  I  hear  it,  sounding  on, 

Through  the  golden  spheres. 

When  we  raise  our  battle  cry 

For  the  holy  Right, 
We  shall  feel  her  drawing  nigh 

With  a  spirit's  might. 

As  the  veil  of  flesh  doth  part, 

We  behold  her  rise, 
Crowned  with  majesty  of  heart: 

There  true  queendom  lies. 

1893. 

84 


IN  MEMORIAM  OTTO  DRESEL 

HANDEL'S  LARGO  1 

ON  every  shining  stair  an  angel  stood, 
And  to  our  dear  one  said,  "  Walk  higher,  friend!  " 

Till,  rapt  from  earth,  in  a  celestial  mood, 
He  passed  from  sight  to  blessings  without  end; 

And  where  his  feet  had  trod,  a  radiant  flood 
His  lofty  message  of  content  did  send. 

BEETHOVEN'S  FUNERAL  MARCH  2 

THE  heavy  steps  that  'neath  new  burdens  tread, 

The  heavy  hearts  that  wait  upon  the  dead, 

The  struggling  thoughts  that  single  out,  through 

tears, 

The  happy  memories  of  bygone  years, 
And  on  the  deaf  and  silent  presence  call: 
O  friend  belov'd!  O  master!  is  this  all? 
But  as  the  cadence  moves,  the  song-flowers  fling 

1  Suggested  by  Mr.  Loeffler's  rendering  of  the  "  Largo  "  at  a 
concert  especially  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  Otto  Dresel,  musi 
cian  and  critic,  Boston  Music  Hall,  October  n,  1890. 

2  The  funeral  march  from  Beethoven's  "Eroica"  made  part  of 
the  programme  at  this  concert. 

85 


86          IN  MEMORIAM  OTTO  DRESEL 

To  us  the  promise  of  eternal  spring, 

Love  that  survives  the  wreck  of  its  delight, 

And  goes,  torch-bearing,  into  darksome  night. 

Trumpet  and  drum  have  marked  the  victor's  way, 

The  seraph  voices  now  their  legend  say: 

"O  loving  friends!  refrain  your  waiting  fond; 

The  gates  are  passed,  and  heaven  is  bright  beyond." 


TO  MARY1 

THOU  gracious  atom,  verging  to  decay, 
What  wert  thou  in  the  moment  of  thy  stay? 
The  flowers  in  thy  faded  hands  that  lie 
More  briefly  than  thyself  scarce  bloom  and  die. 
How  was  it  when  swift  feet  thy  beauty  bore, 
And  Life's  warm  ripple  sunned  thy  marble  o'er  ? 

A  slender  maiden,  captured  by  a  kiss, 
Wed  at  the  altar  for  a  three  years'  bliss. 
No  longer  space  my  life's  indenture  gave 
From  Juliet's  courtship  to  Ophelia's  grave. 
The  modest  helper  of  heroic  art, 
The  Heaven-bound  anchor  of  a  sinking  heart. 

Ask  him  who  wooed  me,  earliest  and  last, 
What  was  my  office  in  Love's  sacred  past  ? 
What  was  she,  here  in  silken  shell  empearled 
But  my  life's  life,  the  comfort  of  the  world  ? 

1  Written  after  attending  the  funeral  of  Mary  Devlin  Booth,  wife 
of  Edwin  Booth. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS 

THE  Christ  within  the  Christ  thy  heart  doth  feel, 

Without,  the  Christ-beloved  humanity; 

And  so  thy  simple,  fluent  words  reveal 

What  flesh  and  blood  have  not  made  known  to  thee. 

As  free  of  evil  dost  thou  wander  o'er 
This  thorny,  blooming  earth,  as  if  she  ne'er 
The  seeds  of  sin  in  her  hot  bosom  bore, 
But  only  treasures  consecrate  and  rare. 

Thou  treadest  fearlessly  where  Youth  and  Age 
Their  pitfalls  find,  sore  wondering  at  the  same; 
All  doors  are  open  to  thy  summons  sage, 
Ice  barriers  melt  before  thy  touch  of  flame. 

Give  us  thy  secret.    Do  not  flit  from  earth 
Burying  the  knowledge  that  hath  made  thee  wise. 
Or,  if  we  cannot  reach  its  priceless  worth, 
Redeem  us  in  the  judgment  of  the  skies! 


88 


A  HEART   OFFERING  TO  THE    DEAD 
BISHOP 

PHILLIPS   BROOKS 

LABOR  cease! 
Rest  and  peace 
O'er  thy  silent  bed; 
Lilies  sweet 
At  thy  feet, 
Lilies  at  thy  head. 

Organ  boom 

In  the  gloom 

Of  the  darkened  shrine; 

Hearts  whose  grief 

Seek  relief 

From  the  source  divine. 

Happy  years 
Seen  thro'  tears, 
When  he  led  you  all, 
In  the  fields 
The  gospel  yields 
With  a  shepherd's  call. 


go  THE  DEAD    BISHOP 

Where  he  trod, 
Love  of  God 
Blossomed  into  light% 
Form  and  hue 
Goodlier  grew 
In  the  eternal  light. 

Noblest  friend, 

Who  shall  end 

All  thy  tender  praise  ? 

Souls  alift 

With  thy  shrift 

Seeking  better  ways. 

Oh!  that  rhyme 
Could  but  divine 
Something  of  his  worth; 
Could  upbuild 
What  God  willed 
Should  be  dear  on  earth ! 

Keep  the  word 
You  have  heard 
As  a  fruitful  seed; 
In  the  rest 
Of  Heaven's  best, 
That  shall  be  his  meed. 
January  25,  1893. 


MY    FIRST    THOUGHT    ON    HEARING 
OF  BROWNING'S   DEATH 

CARVE  ye  two  pillows  of  marble  stone 
Where  Westminster  arches  stand  lofty  and  lone. 
Trace  on  them  two  garlands  of  laurel  fair, 
And  where  wedded  sovereigns  sculptured  are, 
Make  a  bed  in  the  holiest  aisle, 
"Where  storied  windows  may  glow  and  smile, 
And  anthems  sing  for  the  Royal  Dead, 
Sovereigns  of  song,  forever  wed. 

Friitful  of  life  were  those  nuptials  rare; 
A  bng  train  follows  the  kingly  pair, 
Over  the  continents,  over  the  seas, 
Fa*  as  sunrise  can  follow  the  breeze, 
Fa:  as  sunlight  in  the  sky 
M&es  human  hearts  leap  glad  and  high. 
Sprits  of  women,  spirits  of  men, 
Sprits  in  joy  and  spirits  in  pain, 
Wkther  for  merriment,  music,  or  dole, 
Folow  the  tread  of  each  royal  soul. 

Opei  your  gates,  Westminster  high  ! 
Whte  should  the  minstrel  sovereigns  lie? 


92  BROWNING'S  DEATH 

Walk  at  their  funeral,  woman  lone, 
They  have  thrilled  at  your  grief  and  moan. 
Wits  of  all  ages,  counsellors,  kings! 
Your  thoughts  to  them  were  familiar  things. 
Bane  of  men's  evilness,  virtue  sublime, 
Beauties  of  childhood,  gathered  in  rhyme, 
With  this  sad  pageant  their  ministry  ends. 
These  were  your  guardians,  these  were  your  friends ! 
Who  shall  precede  you  with  dutiful  feet  ? 
Who  shall  intone  for  you  melodies  sweet  ? 
No  one  inherits  your  magical  song 
That  to  all  ages,  all  climes  doth  belong. 
Great  ones  salute  you  from  out  the  dim  past, 
Bards  of  the  centuries,  fashioned  to  last. 
Homer  and  Dante  and  Shakespeare  may  say: 
Souls  of  our  temper  are  with  us  to-day. 

[N.  B.  These  lines  were  scrawled,  almost  illegibly, 
in  the  Pullman,  on  my  way,  I  think,  to  Fresno,  Ca!. 

Hearing  that  Browning  had  died  in  Venice,  the  ol- 
lowing  lines  came  to  me,  and  were  scribbled  in  ike 
manner,  before  seeing  any  account  of  the  procesaon 
which  they  in  a  manner  prefigure.] 

Methought  I  saw  our  poet's  funeral  pass 
Like  a  mysterious  vision  in  a  glass. 
Hearsed  in  a  gondola  his  ashes  lay, 
While  smiled  on  him  the  bright  Venetian  day, 


BROWNING'S  DEATH  93 

And  silence  waited  on  the  bargeman's  oar, 
Listening  for  glorious  song  that  comes  no  more. 

The  ancient  palaces,  so  primly  white, 
Did  seem  to  have  their  sorrow  in  the  sight; 
While  "in  a  balcony"  lovers  and  Queen 
Persist  in  acting  out  their  mimic  scene, 
Scarce  heeding  when  the  poet's  dust  floats  by, 
Except  to  say:  "Die  thou  —  we  need  not  die." 
The  barks  fly  past,  for  pleasure,  profit,  sin, 
Urged  by  some  eager  hand  their  goal  to  win. 
For  haste  thy  rowers'  muscles  are  not  strained, 
No  need  to  hurry  now  —  thou  hast  attained. 
But  in  thy  track  a  flight  of  loosened  doves, 
Other  than  those  thy  Venice  feeds  and  loves, 
Make  plaintive  music  with  their  tender  call. 
Who  are  ye  then,  ye  creatures  slight  and  small  ? 
What  place  in  this  sad  festival  have  ye? 
"  We're  the  song-spirits  that  his  verse  did  free. 
The  earth  shall  hide  his  dust,  for  which  you  grieve, 
But  in  his  song  a  better  earth  shall  live." 


MICHAEL  ANAGNOS 

VAINLY  we  listen  for  his  tread, 
Returning  from  a  distant  shore. 

Here,  where  his  fruitful  days  were  sped, 
The  friend  beloved  is  seen  no  more. 

Truly,  it  was  a  gracious  gift 

That  Greece  vouchsafed  us,  when  he  came 
With  buoyant  step  and  heart  alight 

To  win  an  enviable  fame. 

The  oracles  of  Hellas  old, 

The  dream  of  glories  yet  to  be 
Had  taught  his  spirit,  frank  and  bold, 

The  price  and  worth  of  liberty. 

He  entered  where  a  champion  crowned 
His  noble  conquests  still  pursued, 

For  him  the  clarion  blast  did  sound 
That  stirred  the  elder  Hero's  blood. 

Where  souls  in  shadows  dim  abode, 
Ungladdened  by  the  light  of  day, 

His  tutelary  guidance  showed 
The  light  of  Truth's  all  conquering  ray; 
94 


MICHAEL  ANAGNOS  95 

For  they  should  know  the  world  so  fair, 
Its  record  brave,  its  wondrous  plan, 

And,  though  despoiled  of  Nature,  share 
The  great  inheritance  of  man. 

Oh!  friends  who  gather  in  the  class 
The  welcome  word  to  hear  and  tell, 

Take  with  you,  as  you  onward  pass, 
The  thought  of  him  who  loved  you  well. 

That  love  which  doth  all  ills  redeem, 
Which  seals  man's  noblest  promise  true, 

The  prophet's  pledge,  the  poet's  dream, 
Be  that  his  legacy  to  you. 


1906. 


MARY  A.  LIVERMORE 

THE  darkening  of  a  brow  belov'd, 
The  silence  of  a  voice  of  cheer 
That  roused,  reminded  and  reproved 
For  many  a  day,  in  many  a  year. 

She  stood  beside  the  beds  of  pain 
Where  fainting  soldiers  scarce  drew  breath; 
She  won  them  back  to  life  again, 
Or  smiled  away  the  pangs  of  death. 

When  Duty  bade  the  woman  speak, 
How  bravely  did  she  heed  the  call ! 
With  presence  resolute,  yet  meek, 
She  graced  the  temple  and  the  hall. 

Three  decades  of  laborious  years, 
Their  holiday,  the  light  of  home; 
Their  record  in  the  past  appears, 
Their  promise,  in  the  days  to  come. 

For  every  earnest  word  she  spake 
Shall  in  Time's  furrows  ripen  seed; 
96 


MARY  A.  LIVERMORE  97 

The  labor  shall  our  world  awake 

To  take  deep  thought  for  human  need. 

We  meet  in  sorrow  at  her  grave, 
Right  lovingly  we  say  farewell; 
All  richer  for  the  life  she  gave, 
All  poorer  for  its  broken  spell. 


1905. 


WORDSWORTH 

BARK  of  the  unseen  haven, 

Mind  of  unearthly  mood, 
Like  to  the  prophet's  raven, 

Thou  bringest  me  heavenly  food; 
Or  like  some  mild  dove  winging 

Its  way  from  cloudless  skies, 
Celestial  odors  bringing, 
And  in  its  glad  soul  singing 

The  songs  of  paradise. 

Surely  thou  hast  been  nearer 

The  bounds  of  day  and  night  — 
Thy  vision  has  been  clearer, 

And  loftier  thy  flight, 
And  thou  to  God  art  dearer 

Than  many  men  of  might. 
Speak!  for  to  thee  we  listen 

As  never  to  bard  before, 
And  faded  eyes  shall  glisten 

That  thought  to  be  bright  no  more. 

Oh,  tell  us  of  yonder  heaven, 
And  the  world  that  lies  within; 
98 


WORDSWORTH  99 

Tell  of  the  happy  spirits 

To  whom  we  are  near  of  kin; 
Tell  of  the  songs  of  rapture, 

Of  the  stars  that  never  set; 
Do  the  angels  call  us  brothers  — 

Does  our  Father  love  us  yet  ? 

Speak,  for  our  "souls  are  thirsting 

For  the  light  of  righteousness; 
Speak,  for  our  bosoms  are  bursting 

With  a  desolate  loneliness; 
Our  hearts  are  worn  and  weary, 

Our  robes  are  travel-soiled  — 
For  through  a  desert  dreary 

Our  wandering  feet  have  toiled. 

Those  to  whom  life  looks  brighter 

May  ask  an  earthlier  strain: 
A  gayer  spell  and  a  lighter 

Shall  hold  them  in  its  chain; 
But  to  those  who  have  drunk  deepest 

Of  the  cup  of  joy  and  grief, 
The  tuneful  tears  thou  weepest 

Do  minister  relief. 

Speak,  for  the  earth  is  throbbing  < 

With  a  wild  sense  of  pain; 
The  wintry  winds  are  sobbing 

The  requiem  of  the  slain; 


ioo  WORDSWORTH 

Dimly  our  lamps  are  burning, 
.  And  gladly  we  list  to  thee, 
With  a  strange  and  mystic  yearning 

Toward  the  home  where  we  would  be: 
Turn  from  the  rhyme  of  weary  Time, 

And  sing  of  Eternity! 

Tell  of  the  sacred  mountains 

Where  prophets  in  prayer  have  kneeled; 
Tell  of  the  glorious  fountains 

That  soon  shall  be  unsealed; 
Tell  of  the  quiet  regions 

Where  those  we  love  are  fled; 
Tell  of  the  angel  legions 

That  guard  the  blessed  dead  ! 

Tell  of  the  sea  of  glass, 

And  of  the  icy  river; 
To  those  who  its  waves  must  pass 

Thy  message  of  love  deliver. 
Strike,  strike  thy  harp  of  many  lays, 

And  we  will  join  the  song  of  praise 
To  Him  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne 

Of  life  and  love  forever. 

Written  many  years  ago. 


LEONARD  MONTEFIORE 

BY  a  way  of  pain  and  fire 
Laid  across  thy  heart's  desire, 
Thou  hast  swift  arrival  where 
Ends  for  thee  all  earthly  care. 

From  the  dismal  darkened  room, 
Where  thou  cam'st  in  manhood's  bloom, 
Where  thy  vigils  'of  distress 
Faded  into  nothingness, 
Men  a  lifeless  burthen  carry 
For  a  voyage  that  may  not  tarry. 

Thou  in  noble  house  wert  bred, 
Wisdom  stood  thy  youth  in  stead, 
Features  of  an  ancient  race 
Looked  in  beauty  from  thy  face. 
'T  was  thy  early  wont  to  sit 
With  the  men  of  lofty  wit, 
Hear  the  counsels  that  outshine 
Ruby  gem  and  ruby  wine. 

Wail  of  kindred  o'er  the  sea 
Wakes  our  sorrowing  sympathy, 
And  the  hospitable  land 
That  would  take  thee  by  the  hand 

IOI 


LEONARD  MONTEFIORE 

Sadly  yields  thee  to  the  wave 
That  doth  bar  thy  island  grave. 

In  this  loss,  so  sad  and  cold, 
Comfort  we  would  still  behold, 
And,  in  this  divorce  of  death, 
Look  beyond  the  failing  breath. 
For  the  doors  of  human  pride 
And  illusion,  opening  wide, 
Loose  thee  from  this  fabled  scene, 
To  the  steadfast  life  serene. 
Prophet  of  the  ancient  psalm 
Usher  thee  to  holy  calm. 
On  the  heights  where  Moses  trod 
May  thy  soul  commune  with  God. 

Snows  of  age  shall  never  rest 
Heavy  on  thy  manly  crest. 
Thro'  no  waning  nor  decay 
Doth  thy  swift  soul  wing  its  way. 
All  the  promise  that  we  knew 
Shall  remain  forever  true. 
And  the  gift  that  we  surrender 
With  a  spasm  dear  and  tender 
Goes  to  hands  that  never  waste 
What  we  give  with  grief  and  haste, 
Till  the  Giver  gives  again 
Life  for  death,  and  joy  for  pain. 


FOUND  IN  ENVELOPE  MARKED 

THE  LOST  POEM 

1907 

MASTER  that  dwell'st  in  peace  serene, 
Thrice  happy  soul,  that  ours  hast  been, 
We  turn  to  thee  in  this  fair  scene; 

As  birds  that  pipe  around  a  cage 
Seek  its  loved  inmate  to  engage 
In  the  sweet  war  that  singers  wage. 

But  thou  from  out  the  golden  wires 
Hast  passed,  beyond  the  sunset  fires, 
To  enter  where  our  thought  aspires. 

Well  we  recall  the  falling  snows, 
The  sad  day  darkening  to  its  close 
That  saw  thee  folded  in  repose. 

And  as  they  led  thy  funeral  train 
Fair  rhymes,  the  children  of  thy  brain, 
Did  follow  thee  with  hushed  refrain. 

In  marble  shall  men  set  thy  name, 
Give  lavish  measure  to  thy  claim 
For  dear  remembrance  and  high  fame. 
103 


FREDERIC  LAWRENCE  KNOWLES 

A  GENTLE  presence  is  removed, 
The  face  and  form  of  one  beloved. 
He  in  our  revels  bore  his  part, 
He  was  a  brother  of  .the  heart. 

Before  his  gracious  youth  could  pass 
Its  vision  vanished  from  the  glass. 
The  hand  that  for  high  merit  strove 
Returns  no  more  the  clasp  of  love. 

But  ere  he  passed,  the  sacred  bays 
Lent  their  deep  meaning  to  his  ways; 
His  glowing  strophes  did  resound, 
He  lived  and  died,  a  poet  crowned, 
Happy  to  lisp  with  parting  breath 
A  music  that  may  challenge  Death. 


104 


POEMS  OF  SENTIMENT 
AND   REFLECTION 


FROM  MY  NURSERY 

FORTY-SIX  YEARS  AGO 

WHEN  I  was  a  little  child, 
Said  my  passionate  nurse,  and  wild: 
"Wash  you,  children,  clean  and  white; 
God  may  call  you  any  night." 

Close  my  tender  brother  clung, 
While  I  said  with  doubtful  tongue: 
"No,  we  cannot  die  so  soon; 
For  you  told,  the  other  noon, 

Of  those  months  in  order  fine 
That  should  make  the  earth  divine. 
I  Ve  not  seen,  scarce  five  years  old, 
Months  like  those  of  which  you  told.'* 

Softly,  then,  the  woman's  hand 
Loosed  my  frock  from  silken  band, 
Tender  smoothed  the  fiery  head, 
Often  shamed  for  ringlets  red. 
Somewhat  gently  did  she  say, 
"Child,  those  months  are  every  day." 
107 


io8  FROM   MY  NURSERY 

Still,  methinks,  I  wait  in  fear, 
For  that  wonder-glorious  year  — 
For  a  spring  without  a  storm, 
Summer  honey-dewed  and  warm, 
Autumn  of  robuster  strength, 
Winter  piled  in  crystal  length. 

I  will  wash  me  clean  and  white; 
God  may  call  me  any  night. 
I  must  tell  him  when  I  go 
His  great  year  is  yet  to  know  — 
Year  when  workings  of  the  race 
Shall  match  Creation's  dial  face; 
Each  hour  be  born  of  music's  chime, 
And  Truth  eternal  told  in  Time. 


ROUGE  GAGNE 

THE  wheel  is  turned,  the  cards  are  laid; 
The  circle's  drawn,  the  bets  are  made: 
I  stake  my  gold  upon  the  red. 

The  rubies  of  the  bosom  mine, 
The  river  of  life,  so  swift  divine, 
In  red  all  radiantly  shine. 

Upon  the  cards,  like  gouts  of  blood, 
Lie  dinted  hearts,  and  diamonds  good, 
The  red  for  faith  and  hardihood. 

In  red  the  sacred  blushes  start 
On  errand  from  a  virgin  heart, 
To  win  its  glorious  counterpart. 

The  rose  that  makes  the  summer  fair, 
The  velvet  robe  that  sovereigns  wear, 
The  red  revealment  could  not  spare. 

And  men  who  conquer  deadly  odds 
By  fields  of  ice,  and  raging  floods, 
Take  the  red  passion  from  the  gods. 
109 


no  ROUGE  GAGNE 

Now  Love  is  red,  and  Wisdom  pale, 
But  human  hearts  are  faint  and  frail 
Till  Love  meets  Love,  and  bids  it  hail. 

I  see  the  chasm,  yawning  dread: 
I  see  the  flaming  arch  o'erhead: 
I  stake  my  life  upon  the  red. 


THE  OPEN  DOOR 

THE  Master  said,  "  I  am  the  Door. 

The  world  is  dark  with  doubt  and  sin, 
Hidden  the  good  that  men  implore, 

But  after  me  ye  enter  in. 

"  The  ancient  barriers  I  disown, 

The  distant  and  the  dark  control, 
Who  with  your  onward  steps  have  thrown 
God's  sunshine  open  to  the  soul." 


Another  mystic  door  I  know, 
The  entrance  to  this  world  of  ours, 

And  she  who  opens  it  bears  low 
A  wondrous  weight  of  pains  and  powers. 

0  men  that  plan  the  stately  pile, 
Where  law  and  learning  hold  their  sway, 

And  drive  with  subterfuge  and  wile 
Your  mothers  from  the  door  away,  — 

Undo  the  doors!  In  God's  high  noon 
An  equal  heritage  have  we; 
in 


ii2  THE  OPEN  DOOR 

Your  cold  exclusion 's  out  of  tune 
With  Nature's  hospitality. 

See  where  the  word  of  freedom  lives 
To  bridge  the  gulf  of  ages  o'er; 

Learn  how  the  Eternal  Giver  gives, 
And  keep  with  Christ  the  open  door 


RAFAEL'S  ST.  CECILIA 

METHINKS  a  wondrous  harmony 
Doth  through  the  ether  fall; 
My  heart,  attuned  to  heavenly  joy, 
Makes  answer  to  its  call. 

A  breath  divine  is  in  this  sky, 
So  limpid  and  so  blue; 
A  radiance,  streaming  from  on  high, 
Makes  all  things  fair  and  new. 

The  mighty  rhythm  of  the  spheres 
But  echoes  His  behest 
Who  bids  Devotion  build  her  shrine 
Deep  in  the  faithful  breast. 

The  music  welcomes  low  and  sweet 
The  Presence  drawing  nigh; 
Sing,  brothers,  sing;  with  measure  meet 
Salute  Heaven 's  majesty! 


A  SCRAP  i 

METHINKS  my  friends  grow  beauteous  in  my  sight, 
As  the  years  make  their  havoc  of  sweet  things; 
Like  the  intenser  glory  of  the  light 
When  the  sad  bird  of  Autumn  sits  and  sings. 

Ah!  woe  is  me!  ah!  Memory, 
Be  cheerful,  thanking  God  for  things  that  be. 

1  I  think  this  dates  as  far  back  as  1857.  I  copy  it  in  1882.' 


A  DREAM  OF  THE  HEARTHSTONE 

A  FIGURE  by  my  fireside  stayed, 
Plain  was  her  garb,  and  veiled  her  face; 
A  presence  mystical  she  made, 
Nor  changed  her  attitude,  nor  place. 

Did  I  neglect  my  household  ways 
For  pleasure,  wrought  of  pen  or  book  ? 
She  sighed  a  murmur  of  dispraise, 
At  which,  methought,  the  rafters  shook. 

Me  young  Delight  did  often  win 
My  patient  limits  to  outgo. 
Thereafter,  when  I  entered  in 
That  shrouded  guest  did  warning  show. 

The  snows  of  Age  to  chill  me  fell 
(Where  many  a  gracious  mate  lay  dead), 
And  moved  my  heart  to  break  the  spell 
By  that  ungracious  phantom  laid. 

"Now,  who  art  thou  that  didst  not  smile 
When  I  my  maddest  jest  devised  ? 
Who  art  thou,  stark  and  grim  the  while 
That  men  my  time  and  measure  prized  ?  " 
"5 


u6    A  DREAM  OF  THE  HEARTHSTONE 

Without  her  pilgrim  staff  she  rose, 
Her  weeds  of  darkness  cast  aside; 
More  dazzling  than  Olympian  snows 
The  beauty  that  those  weeds  did  hide. 

Most  like  a  solemn  symphony 
That  lifts  the  heart  from  lowly  things, 
The  voice  with  which  she  spake  to  me 
Did  loose  contrition  at  its  springs. 

"Oh  Duty!  Visitor  divine, 
Take  all  the  wealth  my  house  affords, 
But  make  thy  holy  methods  mine; 
Speak  to  me  thy  surpassing  words ! 

"  Neglected  once  and  undiscerned, 
I  pour  my  homage  at  thy  feet. 
Till  I  thy  sacred  law  have  learned 
Nor  joy,  nor  life  can  be  complete." 


FLOWERS 

THE  flowers  are  sure  his  teachers 
Who  learns  their  varied  speech, 
And  wondrous  are  the  sermons 
The  friendly  blossoms  preach. 

The  Winter  bids  them  vanish; 
They  close  their  friendly  eyes, 
And  wait  the  joyous  sentence 
When  Spring  shall  bid  them  rise. 

They  say,  "Look  up  to  heaven 
With  ever-radiant  face, 
Transmute  earth's  waste  and  rubbish 
To  purity  and  grace. 

"  Our  roots  may  know  dark  secrets, 
But  these  we  do  not  tell; 
When  peevish  zephyr  questions, 
We  answer,  'All  is  well.' 

"  Whether  we  deck  the  wedding 
Or  garland  o'er  the  bier, 
Comes  still  the  steadfast  message: 
The  end  of  all 's  not  here. 
117 


u8  FLOWERS 

"  Pursue  the  humble  wisdom 
Wherewith  God  makes  us  wise, 
And  answer  back  his  sentence 
With  hope  that  never  dies." 


A  SNAP  SHOT 

WHO  is  this  sprite  so  dainty, 
At  odds  with  grisly  Death  ? 
His  struggles  nought  avail  him, 
The  Conqueror  conquereth. 

" Oh!  I  am  one  whose  heeding 
Was  all  of  delights  most  high; 
Time's  treasures  fitly  feeding 
My  delicate  sense  and  eye." 

But  say,  didst  thou  feed  others? 
"My  lovers,  and  my  friends." 
And  never  a  dusty  beggar  ?  i 
Then  here  thy  banquet  ends! 


119 


A  LEGEND  OF  BRITTANY 

IN  Carnac's  field  a  silent  army  stands, 
Stands  without  feet  and  signals  without  hands; 
No  human  feature  crowns  their  upright  form; 
Nor  human  impulse  their  stern  height  doth  warm. 

Comely,  holy  man,  remembered  here, 
To  every  horned  beast  a  guardian  dear, 
Was  one  day  followed  by  a  heathen  band, 
Who  to  ensnare  his  sacred  life  had  planned. 

Seaward  he  fled,  but  when  the  strand  he  neared, 
Nor  helpful  skiff,  nor  friendly  sail  appeared. 
Then  in  his  hearing  some  one  seemed  to  say: 
"Thou  man  of  God,  wherefore  dost  flee  away? 
Stand  fast  and  show  on  this  appointed  spot, 
The  puissance  which  thy  heathen  foe  have  not." 

Then  turned  Comely,  then  erect  he  stood, 
And  held  on  high  the  symbol  of  the  Rood, 
While  from  the  skies  a  voice  said  audibly: 
"  Your  hearts  are  stone,  stone  let  your  bodies  be." 
120 


A  LEGEND  OF  BRITTANY  121 

So,  carved  in  granite,  did  their  features  fade, 
Of  each  stark  form  a  monument  was  made ; 
There,  in  stern  drill,  they  wait  the  Judgment  day, 
When  the  Saint's  prayers  may  melt  their  bonds 
away. 


THE  ECHO 

DREAMED   IN    A    SOLITARY    EVENING,   MARCH   4,  IQO5. 

GOD  gave  the  echo,  that  no  beauteous  sound 
Should  e'er  without  its  counterpart  be  found. 
So,  where  angelic  melody  has  birth, 
It  wakes  its  partner  ere  it  flits  from  earth. 

A  monarch  wears  upon  his  diadem 
The  rainbow,  prisoned  in  an  opal  gem. 
Ev'n  so,  all  glories  of  sea  and  sky 
Captive  in  Man's  imagination  lie. 

With  them  the  boundless  aeons  of  the  past, 
And  future  dim  that  should  forever  last. 
So,  one  may  think  our  Lord  his  crown  doth  make 
Of  such  soul  gems,  and  wears  them  for  our  sake. 


122 


AMONG  MY  TREES 

HAIL,  thou  hundred-handed  pine, 
Swaying  with  a  grace  divine, 
Light  and  heat  and  air  receiving, 

Beauty  and  soft  fragrance  giving. 

i 

Teach  us  music,  songful  birds, 
With  your  seconds  and  your  thirds; 
Melodies  intangible, 
From  past  times  infrangible; 
You  could  tell  us  if  you  dared, 
If  you  only  knew  we  cared; 

Handing  down  the  mystery 
Of  timeless  human  history 
That  unwritten  never  was, 
Never  told  its  end  or  cause. 


123 


ALL  SAINTS 

MY  mind  reviews  the  story 

Of  the  old  primeval  glory: 

Of  Abram,  whom  on  Midian's  plain 

God  heard,  and  answered  to  again; 

Of  Moses  from  the  sweep  of  Nile 

Saved  by  a  sister's  tender  wile; 

The  captains  and  the  seers  of  old, 
Whom  God's  anointing  made  so  bold; 
The  pure  faith- jewel  handed  down 
Till  cross  and  scourging  brought  its  crown. 

Kindred  to  these,  tho'  in  time  apart, 
The  loves  ancestral  of  my  heart, 
The  ancient  grandsire,  parents  sage, 
My  fair  son,  nip't  in  tender  age, 
And  one,  now  lying  still  and  lone, 
A  daughter,  to  a  sister  grown. 
Such  memories  gild,  with  glowing  ray, 
The  passage  of  this  All  Saints'  Day. 

1885. 


124 


A  WAGE-EARNER 

THEY  were  twining  wreaths  of  laurel 
For  many  an  honored  head, 

And  spreading  cloth  of  crimson 
For  princely  feet  to  tread, 

And  singing  in  loud  triumph 

The  pasan  of  the  hour, 
The  joy  of  recent  conquest, 

The  victor's  praise  and  power; 

When  one  came  by  heart- weary 

With  service  of  the  day: 
"From  dawn  to  dusk  I've  labored, 
Where  do  such  have  their  pay  ?" 

Back  of  this  gay  assemblage, 

Unnoticed  of  the  crowd, 
Leadeth  a  narrow  passage 

Which  darkling  shadows  shroud. 

It  smells  not  of  the  laurel 
Nor  shows  the  carpet  fine; 

There  shalt  thou  find  the  Master, 
And  there  receive  his  coin. 
125 


126  A  WAGE-EARNER 

A  penny  of  old  fashion 

With  marks  of  sweat  and  blood; 
Such  Moses  took  in  payment, 

And  Christ,  who  blessed  the  rood. 

Clean  hands  of  many  a  martyr 
Have  held  this  symbol  small, 

Bequeathing  to  the  ages 
The  value  of  their  all. 

And  fairer  in  the  using 

Of  centuries  it  grows; 
Among  immortal  treasures, 

Splendid  and  sole  it  shows. 

Be  joyful  in  receiving 

From  heavenly  Lord  and  Friend 
What  falsehood  cannot  gather 

And  folly  cannot  spend. 

Mined  from  the  heart  of  ages, 
Stamped  with  unerring  skill, 

It  heaven  and  earth  can  purchase, 
God's  service,  man's  good-will. 


WICKED  PATIENCE 

SWEET  Christ,  with  flagellations  brought 
To  thine  immortal  martyrdom, 
Cancel  the  bitter  treasons  wrought 
By  men  who  bid  thy  kingdom  come. 

Their  sinful  blood  we  may  not  urge, 
While  Mercy  stays  thy  righteous  hand; 
But  take  all  ours,  if  that  should  purge 
The  wicked  patience  of  the  landl 


127 


THE  WORLD  MESSENGER 

MARCH  26,  1905 

WHO  comes  with  tidings  from  afar? 
What  says  the  peasant,  what  the  Czar  ? 
In  farthest  East,  where  fearful  strife 
Pours  ^Nation's  blood  for  Nation's  life? 
How  fare  the  armies  madly  matched  ? 
What  new  conspiracies  are  hatched 
In  that  dark  house  where  counsels  lag 
While  fierce  Rebellion  waves  her  flag  ? 

Still  does  complacent  Europe  smirk 
At  the  pledged  promise  of  the  Turk  ? 
As  fruitless  as  their  sympathies 
Who  rail  at  his  iniquities, 
But  never  yet  have  plucked  up  heart 
To  act  a  valiant  Champion's  part ! 

On  our  own  shores,  what  new  surprise  ? 
What  forecast,  both  of  fools  and  wise  ? 
What  covert  heaping  of  the  spoil  ? 
What  protest  of  hard-handed  toil  ? 
What  Sunday  sentences  of  good  ? 
What  Monday  floating  with  the  flood? 
128 


THE  WORLD  MESSENGER  129 

Questions  like  these,  and  many  more 
Are  answered  at  our  very  door. 

Who  is  it  that  thus  daily  reads 

The  riddle  of  our  human  needs  ? 

What  giant  with  a  million  hands, 

With  feet  familiar  in  all  lands, 

Tracks  through  this  world  the  flight  of  Fame, 

Rehearsed  to  us  for  praise  or  blame  ? 

Who  is  this  Master-Servant  ?  Guess. , 

What  is  it  but  The  Daily  Press! 


A  NEW  FLAG1 

WE  'LL  have  a  new  flag,  my  brothers  —  we  '11  have 

a  new  flag,  my  boys! ' 
Since  swords  have  been  ground  to  ploughshares, 

and  trumpets  are  turned  to  toys; 
We  have  had  enough  of  the  red  stripe,  the  planet 

of  war  is  set, 
And  in  the  blue  empyrean,  the  white  steeds  of  peace 

are  met. 

Their  reins  are  of  starry  silver,  their  hoofs  are  of 

virgin  gold, 
They  carry  our  fates  behind  them,  in  a  master's 

steady  hold; 

The  armies  of  retribution  strode  heavily  to  the  sea, 
But  the  message  of  consolation  shall  winged  and 

wafted  be. 

We'll  have  the  Christ  on  our  banner,  the  hero  of 
truth  and  toil ; 

Not  a  miser  meting  his  treasure,  not  a  victor  count 
ing  his  spoil; 

The  Christ  that  to  lords  and  peasants  sent  equal 
command  and  call, 

1  Written  soon  after  the  close  of  the  Civil  War. 
130 


A  NEW  FLAG  131 

Who  throned  in  the  skiff  or  palace,  Hope's  master 
and  Sorrow's  thrall. 

We'll  measure  the  fields  together  where  Labor  was 
maimed  and  dumb; 

Where  shadows  wrought  in  the  furrows,  whose 
sunshine  at  last  has  come. 

Where  the  sense  of  the  nation  slumbered,  in  spirit 
less  sloth  and  shame, 

Till  with  flashing  of  arms  and  torches,  the  terrible 
bridegroom  came. 

The  forum  shall  stand  for  justice,  and  the  temples 

shall  stand  for  prayer 
Whose  answer  the  arm  may  hasten,  not  cast  on  the 

viewless  air ; 
Not  crowded  to  distant  heaven  the  humble  and 

poor  shall  wait; 
For  heaven  shall  be  seen  among  us,  the  happy, 

immortal  state. 

And  we  '11  build  the  gladsome  schoolhouse,  where 
small  angels  unawares 

Are  trained  at  the  desk  of  duty,  or  seated  on 
studious  chairs, 

And  sowing  that  seed  most  sacred,  in  the  young 
and  teeming  ground, 

We  shall  look  for  a  precious  harvest,  a  nation  re 
deemed  and  sound; 


132  A  NEW  FLAG 

We  '11  straiten  the  yoke  of  duty,  and  doctrine  make 

one  for  all; 
Each  may  hope  for  and  do  his  utmost,  by  his  own 

worth  stand  or  fall; 
We  '11  not  lift  men  for  their  features,  nor  lower  them 

for  their  skin; 
But  look  to  the  great  soul-Father,  in  whom  we  are 

all  of  kin. 

And  why  do  we  strive  for  riches,  since  all  are  in 

Thine  possessed  ? 
And  why  are  we  mad  for  honors,  when  true  service 

honors  best  ? 
And  why  should  we  build  up  limits,  dividing  the 

land's  fair  face  ? 
They  are  one  —  her  brow  and  her  bosom!   They 

are  one,  her  growth  and  her  grace. 

So  we'll  have  a  new  flag,  my  brothers!  our  stripes, 

we  have  felt  them  all; 
Our  stars  in  the  dusk  of  battle  did  mournfully 

pale  and  fall; 
Let  us  yield  our  claims  and  our  quarrels  for  a 

compact  of  priceless  worth; 
For  the  peace  that  Christ  found  in  heaven,  the 

peace  that  he  left  on  earth. 


SONG  OF  THE  HAREBELL 

AS  I  FOUND  IT  ON  AN  ALPINE  SLOPE 


SPRING  is  coming, 
Birds  are  humming, 
Streamlets  skipping, 
Maidens  tripping. 


Touch  me  slightly, 
Wave  me  lightly, 
Ding  a  ding, 
This  is  spring. 


This  new-comer 
Men  call  summer, 
With  a  color 
Flashing  fuller, 
With  a  splendor 
Fresh  and  tender. 


Touch  me  warmly, 
Uniformly, 
Summer  sings 
Of  steadfast  things. 


i34  SONG  OF  THE  HAREBELL 

Autumn 's  here  now, 
Leaves  are  sere  now. 
Ice-chains  forging, 
No  more  gorging 
Of  the  bee's  throat, 
Of  the  wild  goat. 

Ring  a  knell! 
Summer  fell. 

See  the  summit! 
Winter  from  it 
Sends  its  hoary 
Glittering  glory. 

Snow  doth  bind  me, 
You'll  not  find  me. 
Silence  praises; 
God  amazes. 


NIGHT  THOUGHTS 


JT  is  our  sun's  light  that  returns 
Where  flame-cinctured  Saturn  burns. 

'T  is  our  Holy  One  whose  grace 
Shines  in  each  illumined  face. 

Lavish  Noon  lies  all  abroad, 
Midnight  doth  her  treasures  hoard. 

Thro'  close  darkness  oft  is  won 
Highest  light  of  soul  or  sun. 

H 

Night  her  starry  gems  doth  hoard, 
Day's  delights  are  freely  poured, 
Yet  is  beautiful  the  play 
Of  succeeding  Night  and  Day, 
Sun  and  shadow,  work  and  rest, 
And  the  star-lamps  for  God's  guest 


i35 


TO  AN  INFANT  OF  DAYS 

No  foot  hast  thou  for  frolic  or  for  speed, 

No  brain  to  plan  for  conquest  or  for  need; 

No  hand  to  work  Man's  miracles  of  skill, 

Nor  wise  discernment,  parting  good  from  ill. 

Yet  none  can  say  how  high  thy  strength  shall  lift, 

How  wondrous  and  beneficent  thy  gift. 

O  grant,  mysterious  Powers,  that  this  may  prove 

A  riddle  of  fair  omen,  writ  in  love! 


136 


HUMANITY  * 

METHOUGHT  a  moment  that  I  stood 
Where  hung  the  Christ  upon  the  Cross, 
Just  when  mankind  had  writ  in  blood 
The  record  of  its  dearest  loss. 

The  bitter  drink  men  offered  him 
His  kingly  gesture  did  decline, 
And  my  heart  sought,  in  musing  dim, 
Some  cordial  for  those  lips  divine.  ' 

When  lo!  a  cup  of  purest  gold 

My  trembling  fingers  did  uphold; 

Within  it  glowed  a  wine  as  red 

As  hearts,  not  grapes,  its  drops  had  shed. 

Drink  deep,  my  Christ,  I  offer  thee 

The  ransom  of  Humanity. 

1  Marked,  "  Writ  some  time  this  summer,  1905,  at  Oak  Glen." 


137 


BUILDING 

I  SAT  before  Fate's  ebbing  tide 

With  my  life's  buildings  near  at  hand, 

And  thought,  how  planned  in  marble  pride 

Was  that  which  crumbled  in  the  sand. 

While  the  soul's  Master-architect 

Held  me  to  reason  and  reflect. 

"Oh!  Master,  I  have  wrought  so  ill 
Would  heaven  I  had  not  wrought  at  all! 
So  petty  my  devising  skill, 
My  measures  so  unjust  and  small." 

"But  didst  thou  build  for  God ?  "  said  He. 
"Then  doth  God's  building  stand  for  thee." 


138 


QUATRAINS 


WOULDST  thou  on  me  but  turn  thy  wondrous  sight, 
My  breast  would  be  so  flooded  by  thy  light, 
The  light  whose  language  is  immortal  song, 
That  I  to  all  the  ages  should  belong.1 

II 

I  gave  my  son  a  palace, 
And  a  kingdom  to  control; 
The  palace  of  his  body, 
The  kingdom  of  his  soul. 

1  July  25, 1908.  The  thought  came  to  me  that  if  God  only  looked 
upon  me,  I  should  become  radiant,  like  a  star. 


139 


IN  MUSIC  HALLi 

LOOKING   DOWN   UPON    THE  WHITE   HEADS  OF  M 
CONTEMPORARIES 

BENEATH  what  mound  of  snow 
Are  hid  my  springtime  roses  ? 
How  shall  Remembrance  know 
Where  buried  Hope  reposes  ? 

In  what  forgetful  heart 
As  in  a  canon  darkling, 
Slumbers  the  blissful  art 
That  set  my  heaven  sparkling  ? 

What  sense  shall  never  know, 
Soul  shall  remember; 
Roses  beneath  the  snow, 
June  in  November. 

1  Written  years  ago.  Found  Nov.  29th,  1901,  and  here  copied. 


140 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND 

THINK  of  one  who  comes  no  more 

To  our  circle  glad  and  gay. 
Once,  she  gave  us  of  her  store, 

Shared  our  simple  holiday. 

Silent,  to  the  silent  land 

Was  her  gentle  spirit's  flight, 
From  our  earth  ball,  bound  and  shunned, 
\  To  the  realm  of  endless  light. 

To  the  aeons  that  replace 
Well  our  paltry  tale  of  years, 

To  the  truth's  unclouded  face, 
To  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

Well  equipt  our  friend  might  seem 
For  that  sudden,  mystic  change. 

To  her  patient  soul,  we  deem 
Heavenly  greetings  were  not  strange. 

Freed  from  days  of  suff'ring  drear, 
From  the  torment  of  her  pain, 

She  is  still  a  presence  here, 
In  our  love  she  lives  again. 
141 


THE  CHRIST 

COMMUNION,    CHANNING   MEMORIAL    CHURCH 

I  HAVE  grasped  to-day  a  hand  outstretched 
Long  since,  for  human  weal; 
Its  gesture  strong  for  righteousness, 
Its  mercy  swift  to  heal. 

Unto  the  question  of  my  soul 

Its  touch  an  answer  gives; 

I  asked  of  God:  "Is  Christ  with  Thee  ?" 

It  answers:  "Still  he  lives. 

"The  glory  of  the  world  you  love 
Comes  of  the  life  he  led; 
You  feel  its  radiance  everywhere, 
And  ask  if  he  is  dead  ?" 

Then  to  my  thought  that  hand  of  help 
A  golden  net  did  spread 
Wherein  were  all  we  deem  alive, 
And  all  whom  we  call  dead. 

And,  as  I  looked,  a  voice  did  say: 
"Harm  not  a  single  mesh; 
It  holds  in  harmony  divine 
All  spirit  and  all  flesh." 
142 


THE  PEACE  CONGRESS 

THE  legendary  ark  of  yore 
Sent  forth  a  pilgrim  dove 
Whose  pinions  fair  a  message  bore, 
An  embassy  of  love. 

Where  first  her  foot  did  rest,  was  found 
The  olive  branch  of  Peace, 
And,  waving  this  o'er  Ocean's  bound, 
She  bade  its  tumult  cease. 

Again,  when  Jesus,  strong  to  save, 
By  Jordan's  tide  did  wait, 
A  white  dove  hovered  o'er  the  wave 
His  form  should  consecrate,  i 

The  blazonry  of  discord  glows 

In  the  ensanguined  East, 

And  man  with  man  must  meet  as  foes, 

As  beast  encounters  beast. 

But  human  souls  have  power  to  seek 
The  majesty  of  prayer, 
And,  quickened  by  its  might,  to  speak 
Words  that  sound  everywhere. 
143 


144  THE   PEACE  CONGRESS 

From  these  calm  precincts  where  we  meet 
Intent  on  heavenly  things, 
The  Dove  of  Peace  the  world  shall  greet 
With  healing  on  her  wings. 
1904. 


IN  THE  STREET 

Along  the  way  bright  chariots  rolled, 
With  pleasure- seekers,  gay  and  bold. 
The  throng  passed  by  and  knew  me  not, 
The  service  of  my  life  forgot. 

The  flush  of  youth,  the  pride  of  wealth, 
Broadly  displayed,  though  gained  by  stealth, 
All,  all  their  eager  game  pursued. 
Neglected  in  the  street  I  stood. 

In  a  poor  attic,  overhead, 
Were  certain  maids  who  sewed  for  bread, 
Cheering  their  work  with  songs  of  mine. 
Musing,  I  cried,  "Rich  gifts  may  please, 
But  where  are  givers  like  to  these 
Who,  without  knowledge  or  design, 
Here  crown  me  with  a  joy  divine?" 


NOVEMBER 

ALL  in  a  chamber 

Besprent  with  amber 
The  parting  Year  his  guests  receives. 

His  sunsets  tender 

Their  robes  of  splendor; 
Still  is  he  crowned  with  golden  leaves. 

While  yet  he  lingers 

The  Frost's  swift  fingers 
Are  weaving  him  his  wintry  shroud; 

A  pall  descending 

With  crystal  blending 
Shall  veil  his  forests,  slumber-bowed. 

Beyond  this  curtain 

His  end  is  certain. 
Why,  then,  does  he  still  smile  and  sing  ? 

Because  a  vision 

Of  hope  elysian 
Reveals  the  promise  of  the  spring. 


1909. 


146 


SIX  PRETTY  CRADLES 

I  HAVE  tended  six  pretty  cradles, 
With  the  prettiest  babes  within; 

All  heart-flames  of  holy  rapture 
In  a  world  of  grief  and  sin. 

Six  cradles  make  six  coffins; 

I  see  them  as  I  sit. 
In  giving  life  I  have  given  death  — 

Thus  sorrow  and  solace  knit! 

Six  babes  may  make  six  angels; 

Oh!  grant  it,  God  of  grace, 
That,  lifted  on  their  loving  wings, 

I  too  may  see  Thy  face! 

1909. 


i47 


CHRISTMAS 

IN  highest  heaven  a  new-born  star 
Unveils  its  radiance  from  afar; 
The  while,  upon  her  first-born  child, 
The  mother  of  an  hour  has  smiled. 

To  what  a  rustic  nursery 
Cometh  this  dear  nativity! 
No  hostelry  our  Babe  receives. 
Upon  the  refuse  of  the  sheaves 
Is  pillowed  that  sweet  forehead,  born 
To  feel  the  sharpness  of  the  thorn. 

Pious  souls,  in  Orient  warned, 
Seek  the  Presence  unadorned. 
Journeying  far,  they  would  inquire 
Where  doth  rest  the  mystic  fire 
That  shall  ravish  land  and  sea 
With  a  new  divinity. 

Regal  gifts  the  pilgrims  bear,  — 
Gold  and  myrrh  and  incense  rare. 
Soon  the  offered  sweet  perfume 
Consecrates  the  stable  room: 
While,  from  out  the  wintry  gloom, 
148 


CHRISTMAS  149 

Leaping  Dawn  uplights  the  skies, 
Shows  the  Babe  to  reverent  eyes. 

Soon  thou,  dear  Child,  wilt  leave  thy  play, 

Mimic  dance,  and  roundelay; 

By  some  deep  whisper  in  thy  breast 

Sent  on  Truth's  immortal  quest; 

In  thy  young  reason,  tender  still, 

Shaping  the  fated  fight  with  ill. 

Thou  shalt  learn  the  humble  trade 
That  for  thee  no  cradle  made; 
Eat  the  peasant's  homely  fare, 
His  unfashioned  garments  wear. 
While  thy  royalty  of  soul 
Doth  foreshadow  its  control 
Over  ages  yet  unborn 
That  shall  bless  thy  natal  morn. 

Ah,  sorrow !  that  thy  fair  spring- tide 
The  martyr's  mission  must  abide, 
Thy  thought  with  saintly  daring  probe 
The  festering  ulcers  of  the  globe; 
While  reckless  multitudes  will  stand 
To  pierce  and  bind  thy  healing  hand, 
And  thy  manhood's  fixed  intent 
Leads  to  Calvary's  ascent. 


i5o  CHRISTMAS 

0  joy !  that  far  beyond  the  cross, 
Its  bitter  pain,  its  shame  and  loss, 
Above  the  failure  men  might  see 
Truth's  endless  triumph  crowneth  thee! 
Such  a  promise  in  thy  birth, 
Such  a  glory  come  to  earth, 
Such  a  tragedy  divine 
To  be  wrought  in  pangs  of  time, 
Such  redemption  without  end, 
Brother,  Master,  Saviour,  Friend! 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
u  .  s  .  A 


KAft |47!.««|.o 


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